The Tulip Baroo
by liannimati0n
Summary: *Chapter 16 up!* Cho and Draco duke it out over who is the sexiest teenage magical person at Hogwarts. Harry is sprinkled in there too because love triangles are awesome. Please read the Informative Author's Note at the very beginning.
1. An Informative Author's Note

Greetings.

If you've already scoped out my user profile, you will have discovered that 1.) I had an account and a fairly well-received CC/DM ship thang going on a number of years ago, 2.) I never finished the story, so I'm back to seal loose ends, and 3.) Due to the hiatus, I couldn't remember my password and the registered email account has been defunct for about four years, which is 4.) Why it has taken me this long to finally nut up and re-upload every goddang chapter.

Please keep in mind that "The Tulip Baroo" was published in 2005 under the username liannimation. From this evidence, you should ascertain that this fic is definitely not canon. Just enjoy it, dammit.

So if you end up perusing the chapters, I hope you like where I am taking the story now.

J.K. Rowling is one cool lady, and I thank her for the Potterverse. My fantasies are only a weird vestigial crack baby growing out of her creations.

ENJOY

-liannimati0n


	2. Prologue

_Prologue_

Cho Chang was tired of being type-cast. The reticent little Asian girl was growing stale, and the glass just seemed half empty.

And it was not from the cause of men deprivation—she had plenty of options—it was more a matter of luck. There was of course, Cedric Diggory. He was smart, good-looking...a good kisser...and, so unfortunately deceased. Yes it was tragic, but it was irritating that everyone knew they were a perfect couple. It was expected. Cho thought Harry Potter would be a swing toward a change, but as it turned out, he was quite preoccupied with his own very disturbing issues. With his violent mood swings and scant experience, he was galling, belligerent; an archetypal drama queen. Call it heartless, but she wanted something so much different.

Cho's image at Hogwarts had always been the same. She was smart, subdued. At a glance, she might have well been any other run-of-the-mill Madame Butterfly. Indeed, submissive, foreign innocence in fact inhabits all those with flat, dull faces and narrow eyes.

Her parents had squeezed her into the package. After getting A's in all her classes, her mother would ask accusingly, "Why you not get better grade? You do higher or no sport!" They disapproved of her place on the Quidditch team which was one reason Cho played so hard; she was part of a team other than the Potions Club.

She hated soap scum and worms and the color brown. She hated arrogance. She hated sweaty hands and public bathrooms. She hated the smell of ginger.

She feared loneliness.

She loved tulips.

* * *

Constructive criticism for the following chapters, if you please.

-Liannimation


	3. Ch 1: Toilets and a Heartbeat

_Ch. 1: Toilets and a Heartbeat_

It was the day of her Quidditch game against Slytherin, and Cho was vomiting profusely. Her friend, Amita, missed breakfast in order to hold back Cho's hair for more than a half an hour. She was green and it was very unpleasant.

"Jesus, you're screwed," Amita stated with raised eyebrows. "You think you feel well enough play?"  
Cho thought the question superfluous and chose not to answer.

"You think Davies'll let you sit out?" Roger Davies was the Ravenclaw team captain and was insane, just like all the other Quidditch captains.

"No," she frowned. "He'd have a conniption, after all." She had to play. It was raining. Hard. She sighed.

Cho threw on her uniform and pulled her hair back. She was striking- eyes big, hair long. She had a slim build—not unusual, and a lovely smile. However, this morning she was not looking, or feeling so attractive. She stumbled out of her dorm and made her way through the Great Hall toward the Quidditch pitch.

On her way through the mass of people going the opposite direction, she bumped into someone. Someone, fortunately, with very taut muscles. Worn out from her previous episode with the toilet, she fell down. S_hit, who the hell made me fall down?_ A smooth, drawling voice above her answered that question.

"Watch where you're going, Chang," It was the Slytherin prince, Draco Malfoy. Just what she needed at the moment: bumping into the biggest asshole at Hogwarts.

"You ran into me," Cho said, flustered.

"No I didn't," Malfoy said with a slight smirk, "You're just clumsy, Chang," saying _Chang _with a rather droll tone in his voice. He held out his hand. Cho was startled; she didn't expect someone like Draco Malfoy to be this courteous, especially to someone outside of his House. He was wearing his green Quidditch robes, which, Cho noted, hung favorably.

She grabbed his hand and he pulled her up. She felt a bit better to be standing level to her offender.

"Ready to lose?" He said, smirking again.

Cho tried to retain her calmness. Malfoy was an ass, but he emanated intellect and suaveness nonetheless.

"You wish, Malfoy."

He ignored this remark. "Wow, you look terrible, Chang."

"You're an asshole, Malfoy," she said heaving a weary sigh and looking at her watch.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows slightly, and turned around. As he walked, he looked back and winked.

"Don't be late," he called.

She was used to guys hitting on her.

* * *

I do apologize for the exceedingly short chapters. They get longer as the story progresses, honest I would combine this and chapter two, but that takes a lot of effort- the whole business of changing things and exporting about a million chapters is not a very fun concept. So for now, think of this and the next chapter as one. Just to make it seem longer, because this barely counts for a chapter. Reviews. What a wonderful word. Almost orgasmic, if you ask me. Not really. Just write one. Or two. Or a billion. Thank you very much.

-liannimation


	4. Ch 2: Quidditch

Yes, it's meager. Sorry. Just you wait.

-liannimation

* * *

_Ch. 2: Quidditch_

"Gibbons, Fig, don't let a single bludger come anywhere near 50 meters of Cho," Roger Davies was saying to the teams' Beaters as Cho reached her team. She and Roger had gone out briefly the previous year, but he had proven to be too high-maintenance (he was a Quidditch captain, after all.) He saw her as she entered,

"Where have you been? We have five minutes 'till the match starts!"

"Sorry, I've been throwing up half my stomach for the past half-hour."

"Well, that doesn't stop you from playing. Take a seat Chang, nice try."

"Goodness, you're crazy, Davies."

She sat, and half-listened to Roger's strategy for the next five minutes. She was very green indeed.

As she entered the pitch, the loud cheering and bitter cold made her head spin and ache horribly. She staggered to the middle of the field and mounted her broom slowly. Sweeping the wet hair from her eyes, she saw Malfoy opposite her Seeker position. He smirked.

The whistle blew and Cho half-heartedly kicked off into the air. She circled the pitch and lazily blinked through the heavy rain for the Snitch. Rain seeped into her eyes and dripped down her chin. Lee Jordan's voice echoed distantly, announcing the game's proceedings.

"And Slytherin gets the first goal! 10-0 in the first 15 seconds, shame...the Quaffle is nabbed by Ravenclaw, passed to Davies, Lionel, Davies again..._ouch, _knocked off by Slytherin's beater…"

Glassy-eyed, Cho eventually let her mind wander. The dark clouds seemed to follow her everywhere. _Ugh, I'm going to die. Why is it raining? Why do I have to fly? Why does Malfoy have to be so damn—_her thoughts were interrupted as a bludger hurtled itself at her and collided with the back of her head. She felt her fingers slip from her broom and didn't even know when she hit the ground.

* * *

She woke up in time to be barraged by her rain-soaked teammates. Head swimming and dancing with stars, all she could see was a wavering blue mass.

"You should've seen it! You fell so far…"

"Good thing the ground is soft…"

Then she heard her captain's distraught voice above her, "Bloody hell, we lost. We lost to _bloody _Slytherin! Fig! Where were you, you twat…?"

Cho felt terrible for causing their team to lose the Snitch, but felt worse for herself at the moment; she could've sworn her head had cracked open.

"Is my head cracked open?" She thought out-loud.

"No!"

Once again, she lost consciousness.


	5. Ch 3: Hairy Encounters

Ch. 3: Hairy Encounters

Cho awoke to the clatter of silverware. She opened her eyes heavily and lifted her hand to rub the sleep away, but found she couldn't move a muscle. _What a way to ruin this weekend even more for me _she thought bitterly. With effort, she managed to turn her head to see who was standing over her. Madam Pomphrey with a tray. How exciting. And she thought it would be one of her friends, shame.

"Eat up now, girl. I haven't all day."

Cho cast the nurse a wildly dirty look, and in turn was roughly spoon-fed. She choked on the bland porridge (and the spoon) causing Madam Pomphrey to shuffle away at a mad pace, mumbling and fretting.

An hour passed perhaps, and Cho began to feel slightly better. With the use of her limbs once again, she slowly sat up and got out of her bed. The hospital wing was spare and high-ceilinged, and she flinched when her bare feet touched the cold stone floor. This week had not been a good one. Tuesday, she had received a failing grade on the Potions paper that she had spent all night writing. On Wednesday, practice was hell, and Roger Davies spent two hours lecturing the team. Thursday, an owl from her mother that berated her for not writing enough. And then this conveniently planted fiasco. It was Sunday, her weekend spent and ruined quite sufficiently.

While stepping into the hospital shower, she slipped on the tiles and bit her tongue. Cursing loudly, she took a short, hot shower and dressed in the clothes she wore the day before. She picked up her Quidditch robes and wandered out.

The halls of Hogwarts were unusually quiet. Cho felt foolish listening to her own echoing footsteps. As she rounded a corner to the main stairwell, she stopped so suddenly as to avoid an incomer that she nearly toppled over for the third time in two days. Harry Potter. She was devastated. The last thing she needed was to come face-to-face with this unstable head-case. Not to mention, someone she had recently (and regrettably) been involved with. Apparently, Harry was even more surprised with the encounter, and his glasses had flown askew. He uttered a strangled, 'ack!' and dropped instantly to his knees to scavenge. Cho found it pathetic, yet cute.

"Ch-Cho!" Harry sputtered without making eye-contact.

"Yes, I suppose that _is_ my name, Harry," she responded with a mental eye-roll.

"Erm..." He seemed to be outrageously flustered. "Er…hey, I saw that knock you took yesterday. Quite a bugger, eh?" he laughed nervously. "You feeling alright, then?"

"Well, yes, if you count bleeding from my ears a right state."

Harry blushed and his eye twitched. Cho felt she'd been a bit harsh. However, the time when they'd been "together" was quite arguably one of the most grating experiences of her life. Harry had been incessantly off his rocker, and she herself couldn't stop bursting into tears. How very sad.

Harry looked a bit constrained for a while, and then said quickly,

"Cho, I'm sorry, I guess, for everything. I suppose I was a bit of a nut-case…you know, with the whole Dark Lord business and all…" He trailed off and looked at her guiltily. Cho knew Harry and Ginny were a bit of an item at the moment. Why was he being so apologetic now? And she just couldn't be mean to a boy with such a horrible price on his head.

"Well, Harry, I appreciate the apology," she was being very nice, "Shall we agree to stay friends then?"

Harry looked relieved.

"See you around," she said slowly, and edged around him. She decided that Harry must have something severely wrong with his head, but was all-in-all, a sweet boy. However, she would never consider taking interest in him again. Ever.

* * *

As Cho entered the comfort of the Ravenclaw Common Room, she immediately found a seat in front of the fire. The sky was already dull. A few students sat scattered and quiet in the corners of the room. Again, she found herself without the presence of her friends.

She found herself staring, bleary-eyed, for quite some timeat a painting of Gregory the Hermit and remembering that she still had a term paper to write by Tuesday. While wallowing in her own disappointment and exhaustion, she fell asleep to the crackling embers of the fire.


	6. Ch 4: Turning Green

_Ch. 4: Turning Green_

"Cho! Wakey, wakey…"

Cho blinked painfully. Roger Davies was kneeling beside her shaking her gently. Opening her eyes to the handsome face of her Quidditch captain made her smile, and she stretched and uncurled herself from the armchair she had been sleeping in.

"Hey, there. Rise and shine, Cho. We have practice in seven hours, and I don't want our seeker half-dead and without breakfast. Come on, it's 10:00 already, up!"

Seven hours. The cheery, yet idiotic reminder alone made her instantly want to hurt the boy, but she got up nonetheless and stumbled up to her dorm. It being her last year at Hogwarts, her first class was at noon—Transfiguration, so she didn't worry about being late.

She opened her dorm closet and pulled out a fresh set of robes. After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she set off toward the Great Hall. On the way out of the Common Room, Amita came rushing.

"Cho! Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you! You feeling alright then?"

"I'm fine, just a bit peaky," Cho said with a slight smile. She was pleased to finally see the concern of a friend. "I slept in the Common Room last night, I was so tired. Let's get some breakfast, shall we?"

"Only if you promise not to vomit all over me again," she laughed half-heartedly, for she was being quite serious.

Amita Lahiri was tall and willowy, with a quick laugh and soft eyes- Cho had known her since their first year. They were, for the most part, inseparable.

* * *

Over breakfast, Amita read the headline of the _Daily Prophet_ out-loud.

" 'Gnomes Lead Violent Union Strike in Southern France.' How devastating!" she said with an amused look on her face. "Look, they burned flags and everything."

Cho looked at the tiny, angry figures hopping in triumph in the picture. "Well…you know how it goes. The French and their gnomes," Cho said distractedly, waving her toast. She was feeling a bit better after eating breakfast, but was still very dazed.

"So did you do the Transfiguration homework? I spent half the night working on it, "Amita asked, changing the subject.

Cho had forgotten about that. Her good thoughts dashed away.

"Mother_fucker_…" was all she had to reply with.

Amita looked a little worried, "Cho, you've been so out of it. Here, copy mine…"

"Amita, you know I'm not senile," Cho mumbled. She knew she was.

An hour and a half later, they were walking down the fourth corridor to the Transfiguration Hall. Hopefully Professor McGonagall would forgive Cho's hurried work. She had, after all, fallen off a broomstick.

"Seats, everyone!" Professor McGonagall barked as the chattering class poured in.

Cho sat in her seat between Amita and another friend, Madeline Kinsey. She pulled out her textbook and quill and rested her chin in her palm. Another class, another uninspiring lecture.

"Today, we will be covering wide-scale transfigurations," Professor McGonagall announced after collecting their homework through a flick of her wand. "You and your partner will each receive a pin that you will in turn transfigure into a large wooden chair. Now, wide-scale transfigurations involve the careful precision of…" Cho's interest was draining when she felt a nudge to her left. Madeline had magicked a note over to her. She quickly snatched the persisting piece of paper out of the air and, making sure Professor McGonagall's back was turned, she unfolded the note.

_Oy. Hey, I saw that awful fall you took on Saturday. _Cho was getting a bit tired of people telling her that. _Amita told me you'd been sick earlier…we should be stoning Davies for that, eh? Sorry I haven't been to see you since…they wouldn't let me into the Hospital Wing to see you and then there was this smashing party in the Common Room that night—my hangover was far too horrible the next morning for me to go visit you..._ So no wonder the grounds were so dreadfully empty Sunday. Cho had to read that sentence over several times before it made absolute sense. Madeline wasn't the type to go off drinking and partying on Saturday night. With round eyes and a spattering of freckles, she wasn't terribly shy; she was just a bit…well, conservative. And exceedingly bashful. She read on:

…_Anyway, it's embarrassing, but I suppose Roger and I, in a matter of speaking, hooked up that night. If you catch my drift. _She could practically see the blush blooming upon Madeline's face as she read the words.

_I just thought I'd run that over with you…I didn't know how you would react. I hope you're feeling better, honestly. Maddie._

Cho knew she should be happy for this sudden burst of rebellion, but she couldn't help feeling a tad miffed. If Madeline, of all people, could do something that spontaneous, where was she in all this? And no wonder Roger had been so bright and perky that morning. No doubt she had done the same deed when they were together, but not until after five months. _Oh Maddie, you minx_. She wrote back:

_Madeline, dear! You little mongrel. I love you for everything you do, darling! Let me know the details later, will you? Cho. _It was decidedly fake, but what else could she write? She sent her response over, and gave a wink.

* * *

After four more classes, she was free for an hour before she had to go to practice. Madeline, Amita, and Cho were sipping coffee and studying in a far corner of the Common Room.

"So go over this with me one more time, will you?" Amita asked Cho for the fourth time. She was studying for an obscure History of Magic exam. _Alas, a character flaw, but an adorable one at that _Cho thought as she rolled her eyes. Amita was an insane study animal.

"I think it would do you better if you stopped this nonsense—this _studying_, honestly. Pish," Cho said, straightening in her armchair. She threw the papers over her shoulder.

Amita gasped. She ran to retrieve her lovelies. Madeline laughed and choked on her coffee.

As Amita sat back down, Cho snickered at her. After ten more minutes of silence on Amita's part, she finally threw her quill down.

"Fuck it, I don't care anymore,"

"Watch your language!" Cho said, pretending to be offended.

"Be quiet, or I'll squish you," Amita said.

"Quite a threat!"

Amita laughed and turned to Madeline.

"So, Mad…I hear you and Davies, eh…?"

Madeline immediately turned the color of her shirt—pink—and bit her lip.

"Well?" Cho said, gently punching Madeline's arm, "What are the details, dear?" She found herself smiling too hard, and she scolded herself mentally for doing so. This subtle rage of jealousy shouldn't have been so fervent.

"I was drunk, guys, give me a break."

"What now, Maddie drunk? Never!" Amita cried, her hands flying to her face. They laughed, and Madeline proceeded in telling the details of her escapade (I'll spare you from them). At ten to four, Cho left for Quidditch practice. She grabbed her Comet-Two-Sixty and pulled on an old set of blue flying robes. The entire time, she was very bothered. She hadn't done _anything_ for more than seven months, and here was Madeline doing exactly what she needed. She needed to do something rash. And quickly.

* * *

**A/N: Just a reminder—Malfoy, at least here, does not look like he does in the movie. So let your imagination wander. He should be subtly good-looking…charming and mischievous. Muaha. Also, I know that introducing new characters in fanfictions can be a bit daft, but there aren't many real characters that I can play off of. Enjoy, my pretties.**


	7. Ch 5: Madeline Gets Her Oats

_Ch. 5: Madeline Gets her Oats_

Cho trudged her way through the freezing mud with her broomstick over her shoulder, a frown upon her face. It was 15 degrees Fahrenheit and the wind was howling madly. She was all alone, left to flounder in her own mounting anxiety and guilt. The trek to the pitch was inconveniently long, and within five minutes, her fingers were frozen stiff. She clumsily took out her wand and cast a Warming Charm on herself (quite handy). The spell worked quickly, and soon she was toasty and comfortable hiking up the rocky slopes toward her dreaded destination. Soon, she saw the tips of the scoring hoops and several tiny flying specks—she was late. As she stepped onto the turf, Roger Davies landed next to her. _Damn, _she thought, _just another reminder of my insurmountable prudeness._

"Chang, you're late," he stated plainly.

"And I thought you would be humane enough to cancel practice,"

"Don't be cheeky. Get up there—we're warming up with some shooting, but you can start with some Seeker drills."

Cho seized a spare Snitch and kicked off the frosty ground. After an hour of grueling work and scrimmaging, Davies called the practice, and the team headed back to the castle in the freezing rain.

It was six-thirty by the time she reached the Common Room, and seven by the time she remembered the term paper for Potions that was due the following day. Still drenched and shivering, she changed and went to look for either Amita or Madeline—she hoped at least one of them would be available for moral support. She searched in the dorm room she shared with both of them, but found only Amita's giant cat, Yann sleeping happily on a pile of laundry. Bending down to pet him, she promptly heard a muffled noise from within the bathroom. Because she was half delirious from the rain and quite aware of the dangers of bathroom psycho's, Cho picked up her wand and edged carefully to the door. Then, kicking it open in one swift movement, she saw what was waiting for her inside, and quickly slammed the door shut again.

"_Oh_ my goodness," she breathed. Too tired to fully grasp the situation, but too crazy to get a grip, she lost her footing and hit her head. When she was expecting a murderer in her bathroom, she was only confronted with something even more unwelcome. Madeline hurried out of the bathroom pulling up her pants with a quite ruffled Roger Davies close behind her.

"Y-you!" Cho said, breathing with difficulty and pointing limply, "Only…drunk were you?"

"Erm…" Madeline was a dark shade of raspberry now.

"I'll leave you alone." Cho left hastily in a state of disgust and surprise, more because she hit her head than anything else. However, it left her even more dispirited than before. She found Amita walking up the stairs, and she grabbed her and shoved her toward the Common Room door.

"What?" Amita said thickly, for it was obvious she had just woken from a nap.

"Oh, Amita, I swear I just saw my life flash before my eyes."

* * *

In the 6th corridor, leading to the library, Cho and Amita were walking slowly, whispering excitedly, like conspirators.

"What! No way!"

"Yes way."

Amita seemed to be as equally shocked, if not more.

"Madeline? _Our_ Madeline? Frankly, I refuse to believe you." She let out a sad little laugh. Cho sighed,

"I just…I suppose that seeing Madeline in that place has made me realize…that I'm, you know…"

"Prude? Ha! Cho, you've nothing to worry about. You're a well-rounded woman!" Amita was acting a bit strangely. She was smiling far too hard.

"I _know_ I'm not promiscuous." She eyed her suspiciously. "I think I'm regressing."

"That is the daftest thing I've ever heard uttered from your pretty lips."

Amita stopped talking. Cho sensed a waft of something fishy, but was to preoccupied with her own problems to address someone else's. They walked in silence until they reached the heavy arch of the library.

"So this term-paper, eh? A bitch, I say," Cho said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, yes. Let's get cracking."

They settled on a table that fit snugly between two bookshelves and arranged their parchment and quills. Amita had already half of hers written, and in an easy hour, she had finished and dozed off heavily. Cho had only three of the required fifteen feet of parchment written, and her head was drifting closer and closer to the desk. The soft, provoking snore Amita was emitting was one more contributing factor to her own drooping head. As her handwriting began to shift in a severe downward slope, she gave up and was soon soundly asleep.

She dreamt of toffee and Quidditch brooms, which was weird, but she was impossibly peaceful. About to take a bite out of a particularly long and juicy piece of toffee, she was nudged gently awake. Her dream bubble burst and she rubbed her eyes hazily. Amita was still splayed out on her twenty feet of parchment.

"Quite a bit of a snore you've got there, Chang,"

The drawling voice cut slickly through her sleep haze. Sleepily alarmed, she whipped around to find herself nose to nose with someone certainly unwelcome.

Despite the time of day, Draco Malfoy still seemed to positively leak guile and charm. With an unhealthy mixture of sleep and irritability, her comeback was merely an annoyed yawn.

"And sleeping in the library? Tsk Tsk. Have you no manners?" he said in response.

Cho didn't want to deal with this at the moment.

"And what are you doing here at two o'clock in the morning, Malfoy? Fucking off, I suspect?"

He cocked his head.

"Your Potions paper. And look, only half done. I've been assigned the same paper, but of course, I _expect_ a perfect score," he said smoothly with only a tint of arrogance.

Cho knew she could easily hex him, or kick him in the balls, but he was speaking in such a mild-mannered and alluring tone that she resisted the temptation. She wearily opened her mouth to respond, but she heard a ruffling of parchment at her side. Amita had woken to their voices and was looking straight at Malfoy.

Cho stuffed her things into her bag and stood up quickly, nearly knocking Draco off his feet.

"Come on, Amita," she mumbled. She scratched her head and turned to Malfoy.

"Nice chatting," she said cynically.

"And surely the same to you. See you around."

She stalked off with Amita at her heels. She had to admit, Malfoy was extraordinarily superior at twisting her knickers.

* * *

"Why does he _insist _on bothering me? I honestly haven't done anything!" Cho hissed to Amita as they climbed up a set of marble stairs.

"That wasn't the first time?" Amita asked, looking at her.

"I bumped into him Saturday night before the Quidditch match. I swear he made me fall off my broom." And she didn't fully doubt that.

"Well, Harry _is _his arch nemesis…perhaps something to do with…" she yawned, "your history?"

This hadn't occurred to Cho, however it was efficient in peeving her further. She thought of an appropriate label. Harry Potter: Life Ruiner.


	8. Ch 6: Sour Dispositions

_Ch. 6: Sour Dispositions_

"You don't actually think there's anything serious going on between Madeline and Roger, do you?" Amita asked timidly.

"I dunno. From the looks of it, they were pretty randy." Cho said distractedly.

"I'm sure it was a mistake," Amita said in confidence, "It meant nothing, I suppose…just like the last time."

Cho looked over and raised an eyebrow.

"Amita…"

"What!" she snapped.

The Ravenclaw Common Room was located in the East Tower of the school. On the outside of the door, a large, vintage lamp was mounted on the wall. By saying the password (pudding snacks), a brilliant blue flame would appear crackling inside it and a door would slide open. That night, Cho was in for a treat.

"Pudding snacks," she mumbled. The lamp stayed unlit and cold. "What the fuck—Amita, 'pudding snacks is the password, correct?"

"Yeah," Amita grumbled discontentedly. She was in quite a horrible disposition.

Cho cleared her throat and spoke loudly and slowly,

"PUDDING SNACKS." And still no response. Becoming frustrated, (it was after all, 2:30 in the morning) she shouted the password several more times and threatened it with her wand. All the while, Amita stood passively to the side. She did not seem at all anxious to be let in.

Cho was pounding at the wall now, fuming (she could get into an atrocious state if denied sleep), when the door slid open with ease. Thinking for a second that her temper had allowed this blessing, she stepped back defiantly only to be greeted with a lethargic and meagerly clothed Madeline. Madeline immediately jumped to her senses and a smattering of pink trickled onto her cheeks.

"Hey, Cho- I thought I heard your voice."

"Oh. Yeah, sorry Mad. Why won't the password work? It was driving me fucking crazy." Cho asked, too tired to be awkward.

"They changed it about three hours ago," Madeline said, "Hey, sorry about what happened earlier—I suppose I lost track of time. It was quite funny, actually. Amita, did you hear? Cho walked in on—"

"Yeah. I heard." Amita interrupted a little coldly.

"Oh. Alright. Well, you guys should really be off to bed. You look dead beat, I must say." Madeline said breezily, not picking up the slight hostility in Amita's tone. In truth, Cho was too tired to notice it either. All three of them trudged to their dormitory heavily. Cho brushed her teeth, careful to cast a scouring charm on the bathroom floor, and then climbed silently into the luxury of her bed.

* * *

_She awoke the next morning feeling horrifically disgusting. Glancing at her clock that read 10:45, she pulled herself out from between the sheets and hobbled to the shower. A shower was all she needed to lighten her spirits at that moment, and after a half-hour of happiness, Cho stepped out of the bathroom refreshed, and wrapped in a towel. Amita was missing from the room, but Madeline was still a lump in the blankets. __Must've been quite a hubbub of friendly exertion last night_ Cho thought, chuckling to herself. At the moment, no degree of jealously or insecurity could make her hate Madeline, so she bent over her and whispered profanities into her ear. Madeline rolled a bit and then opened one eye.

"Whaddaya wan?" she mumbled incoherently.

"Rise and shine, duckie! Let's go get some chow!"

Madeline fell back into her pillow.

"Fine, see what I care," and then she tackled her.

Madeline was screaming "BLOODY MURDER!" and protesting against Cho's towel attire when the door swung open. Amita walked in solemnly.

"Hey, darling," Cho said, standing up.

"Cho, d'you want to go and grab some breakfast?" Amita asked, making it clear to look at Cho, and only Cho.

"Sure, let me get dressed and then we can all go,"

Amita hesitated and glanced at Madeline for a short while. Madeline warily looked back.

"Actually, I have to catch up on some studying, so I'll go ahead and eat first," she said, trying to sound casual. Cho didn't have a chance to say anything else before Amita went quickly out the door.

"Is she…mad at me?" Madeline asked, furrowing her brow,

"Maybe," Cho said, frowning. Then she remembered Amita's probing the previous night. She hadn't really been paying much attention, but it was obvious.

"I don't see what she could possibly pin on me," Madeline said, scratching her head.

"Roger Davies," Cho said plainly.

"Roger…!"

"Yes. She seemed a bit irked when I told her about your fun yesterday."

Madeline blushed. "But…Roger never really seemed her type. I didn't think she'd be _mad_…and she knew about what happened at the party Saturday- she didn't seem upset in the least bit."

Cho thought it was all too evident, and grew impatient that Madeline could be so thick. Besides, she could relate to Amita in this particular situation.

"I'm sure you'll work it out," Cho said briskly, grabbing her clothes and robes, "I've gotta go and get changed. You should too—we've got about forty minutes before class, so hurry." She hurried into the bathroom and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. Holding her robes under her arm, she went back into the room to gather her things only to find Madeline whispering with someone through a half-opened door. Cho looked at the person on the other side and saw, with not much surprise, Roger Davies. Cho cleared her throat which made both of them jump and look at her.

"Hello, Roger,"

Roger looked a bit stunned, but gathered his wits quite efficiently. "Cho! Didn't expect you out so quickly. I was looking for you to remind you that…we don't have practice tonight." Cho knew perfectly that it was a horrible lie.

"Davies, I know, for godsake. You told me specifically last night at practice. Twice."

"Oh…did I? Well, Wednesday, right? Quidditch."

Cho nodded.

"Um…nice dropping by…see you then." He was stalling. It was maddening.

Cho walked to her closet on the far side of the room, pretending to take no notice, but listened attentively. She heard Madeline trying to shut the door, but Roger persisted.

"When will I see you again?" he whispered.

"I don't know. Go away, I'll talk to you later," Madeline said hastily, and forced the door closed.

"So it's a bit serious, eh?" Cho asked while she pulled on her socks. Madeline said nothing, and Cho decided it best not to pursue the topic.

Ten minutes later, Cho and Madeline were eating waffles in the Great Hall. They had both been silently munching, when Cho could no longer bear the suspense.

"Madeline, why didn't you tell me earlier about you and Roger?" she asked, setting her fork down.

"I did tell you," Madeline said. Cho rolled her eyes. She hated it when people weren't to the point.

"Only that you were drunk and it meant nothing. Obviously that conversation this morning, not to mention last night…those were just a wee bit of something?"

Madeline looked at Cho, and after what looked like careful consideration, she provided an explanation. "…I ran into Roger last night and we started talking—not about anything in particular, but I suppose because of what happened between us on Saturday kind of led us…farther. You know, we weren't really all that drunk. And now, he thinks it's really something."

Cho coughed. _So she'd lied about being drunk. Fantastic._ She held her tongue.

"Cho, you know I don't usually do things that are so…" Cho knew it was coming and cringed a little, "…rash." She hesitated.

"Go on," Cho said, reaching for the syrup.

"But this has sort of…I dunno…lifted me, so to speak," She smirked slightly, "And now that Amita is mad at me, I'm in a bit of a pickle."

"Amita is probably just bothered that you didn't tell her the whole story. It is, after all, something you tell your friends." Cho said nonchalantly.

Madeline blinked. "You're not mad at me as well?"

Cho put down her fork for the second time and looked at Madeline scrupulously.

"No," she said after some time, "I'm not mad at you."

* * *

_In Transfiguration, Amita carefully made sure to not make any eye-contact with Madeline, merely moving away as soon as Madeline made any sign of starting a conversation. Cho found the behavior quite silly; true, Cho had found the situation irritating, but not enough to build a grudge. Cho was partnered with Amita for practicing large-scale transfiguration. Amita, who was usually quite competent, succeeded in only turning her first pin into a sort of small, tortured creature, and her second caught on fire. As Cho put the fire out with a languid flick of her wrist, she wondered how on earth a pin could catch on fire._

The hour passed quickly, and soon Amita and Cho were on their way across the castle grounds to Divination.

"Amita, Madeline made a mistake—albeit an atrocious one—but is it really worth it to get this upset about? You should really be happy for her. This is Mad we're talking about: she doesn't do these sorts of things."

Amita looked perturbed. "She lied to her friends. Isn't that enough?"

Cho was slightly taken-aback. This sort of reaction didn't seem at all characteristic of Amita for she had always been one to draw rational, even-handed conclusions. However, seeing her response, she thought that telling Amita that Madeline had really not been drunk that Saturday was an unwise decision. Just as Cho and Amita were approaching the front steps to the Divination tower, the door swung open to reveal, alas, a certain green-eyed wizard. Harry Potter stopped dead and stared at Cho. Amita looked amused.

"Hey, Cho," he said, trying to sound smooth.

"Hi, Harry," Cho responded tiredly, "How's it going?"

"Okay," he said a bit too quickly, "So you take divination?"

Cho thought it an absurdly stupid question, for she was about to enter the divination tower, but to spare him from embarrassment, she acknowledged a 'yes'.

"Well. I'd better be off to class or I'll be late," Cho said, giving a polite smile. Harry, noticing the smile, grinned and went off on his way.

"Cho, the poor boy still kind of likes you," Amita said, snickering.

"Shut up," Cho laughed, and pushed her in through the doors.


	9. Ch 7: The Hubbub in the Common Room

_Ch. 7: The Hubbub in the Common Room_

The Advanced Level for Divination Studies was a class for seventh-year students with severe cases of senioritis. Though with an impressive title, the class proved to be anything but. Cho and Amita had taken the required two years of it in their third and fourth years, and this year, they'd decided to slack off a bit.

As they climbed up the ladder that led to the classroom, immediately the usual strong herbal aroma cleared their heads. Cho hauled herself onto the floor of the room and hurried across the room to situate in a cushion. As usual, Professor Trelawney was standing and glistening like a very large, very deranged bug.

"Settle down, children!" Professor Trelawney said in her distant voice as if addressing a group of deaf people, "Today, we will be doing palm reading," Something the class had been doing for a good week. No complaints arose, however. Professor Trelawney turned to the black board and proceeded in scribbling something that Cho had no intention of copying. She looked over and saw Amita, quill moving furiously, and rolled her eyes.

Cho ripped off a small piece of parchment and scrawled a note.

_Bloody Divination._

She folded it neatly and pushed it over to Amita. Cho saw her writing back,

_And why aren't you copying?_

Cho wrote back,

_Because this material is absurd, and I refuse. You, you're horribly mad._

She really was.

_Are you going to talk to Madeline?_

_No._

_Why?_

_Go away. Grr._

Cho was glad to have this recent little drama at hand, in a way. It meant she had something else to think about other than her very decrepit love-life.

* * *

"So did you end up finishing that paper, Cho?" Amita asked as they trudged back to the castle on their way to Potions. Cho had forgotten that her paper was just barely a fifth completed, and her stomach sunk. She instinctually stopped in her tracks, causing the person behind her to cast her a dirty look.

"Shit! No, I fell asleep last night! I have three pages finished!"

"Oh…man."

Cho heaved a heavy sigh. She was too tired and distracted to whine.

"Ask Snape for an extension. He's a hard-ass, but you were the cause of Slytherin's victory, maybe he'll let." Amita said. Cho gave her a dirty look. She pulled out the tattered parchment from the previous night and sadly read through it. It was abysmal. She hoped to God a good begging and some subtle bribes would convince Snape to give her the grade.

The dungeons were gloomier than usual that afternoon. Cho filed in with the class and sat down in her seat in the middle row. Snape was sitting at his desk, glowering. As the last few students took their seats, he stood up and swept to the front.

"Your papers," he said at once. He flicked his wand and a massive wave of parchment piled onto his desk. He counted through them, and looked up accusingly.

"Chang!" he hissed. Cho flinched violently and knocked from her desk a few sheets of parchment.

"You barely have three of the required _fifteen_ pages written,"

Cho swallowed. "Professor, I was meaning to talk to you about it, I didn't…"

"I gave you a week to finish this assignment, and I will accept no excuses. This goes in as a zero for your severe negligence."

Cho was devastated, but not surprised. She blushed horribly and looked down at her desk. Left to stew in her own guilt and humiliation, she did not bother at all to listen to the lecture.

The hour was spent. Cho heard the familiar build-up of voices and shuffling of paper that so often followed a class. She gathered her bag and books and started tentatively to Snape's desk. Amita had gone on her way to her Muggle Studies class leaving Cho very alone to face this nightmare. As she walked reluctantly to the front of the room, someone else entered and made his way to Snape before Cho had a chance. The Slytherin prince winked at her. Heaving a sigh, she hung back patiently and waited for the two to finish talking- by the time they'd finished and Malfoy had left, Cho knew she'd be at least fifteen minutes late to her next class (Charms).

"Professor," she started, and seeing that Snape had made no sign of interrupting, she continued,

"About my paper—I really had no intention of coming off as negligent, honest. And on top of N.E.W.T.S. and all of my other classes, you saw that fall I took at Saturday's Quidditch match…I was out for two days and now I'm still just incredibly beat…" She eventually stopped talking and soon had herself in tears. Yes, it was pitiful…but was that a flicker of compassion in Snape's expression? She sniffed and looked up at him. This only ever worked with male teachers. Snape sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Alright, Chang. I suppose a compromise can be made," Cho's face immediately brightened, "You saw Mr. Malfoy come in—he was here for similar reasons, and I assigned him an alternative task. I asked him to go and gather samples of the _Matutinus_ _lilaeus, _or the Silver Shiver Lily from the North Pond."

"Is there a paper involved?" Cho asked meekly.

"At this point, I don't need any extra papers to grade. Just find out when and how the Silver Shiver Lily should be attained, and bring several back to me in good shape. I'll be sure to tell Mr. Malfoy the new arrangement."

Snape had absolutely no idea how happy he had just made Cho (even if she had to work with Malfoy).

"_Thank_ you, professor. Thank you so much, you have no idea. I'll brink back the best samples I can find, promise." She started toward the door. She was already twenty minutes late to Charms, but she didn't care. Her day was uplifted and she was ecstatic.

"Hold in there, Chang," Snape said. She smiled and was on her way.

* * *

The rest of Cho's classes that day were strangely very fascinating, and by the time she and Madeline were walking back to the Common Room after their last class of the day, (Defense Against the Dark Arts) she still had a smile on her face.

"Cho, you know, I hate to break it to you, but despite this -ahem- lucky break, you still have to do it with that prick Malfoy," Madeline said.

"Mad, you're just _jealous_ that you're not getting a better grade. I fell off a broom. Did you fall off a broom?"

"No, but I don't have to gather Silver Shiver Lilies from the North Pond with Draco fucking Malfoy."

You're jealous, dear Madeline. Christ, I don't care if I have to do this with Draco fucking Malfoy. I'm getting an A. And it was out of pity."

Madeline laughed and said the password to the Common Room (now 'Mint Pasties' in honor of the spring season). They strolled in and sat down in front of the fire, scattering their parchment and books on the floor. It was 5:00, and the early spring sun cast its rays coldly through the arched windows: a reminder that she had no Quidditch practice that night. Cho stretched and propped her feet up on a coffee table.

"So, are you going to try and talk to Amita?" Cho asked as she heaved her Charms book onto her lap.

"I've tried. She won't look at me,"

"I really don't think she should be this mad."

"I know, it's a bother."

They worked in silence. Within an hour, Cho had finished her Charms essay and was just beginning her Divination when she knocked over her ink-well.

"Bugger," she said under her breath. She muttered a charm and the ink disappeared. She went off to retrieve a new ink-well and as she walked up the stairs to her dorm, she tripped and skinned her knee.

_What is it with me and hurting myself this week?_ she thought as she clutched her leg. She had ripped her jeans and her knee was burning considerably. She hobbled up to her room and tended to her knee. Then, fixing the rip with a tap of her wand, she went back down to finish up her work. She walked carefully down the steps, and nearing the bottom, she heard voices. Two voices. Namely the voices of Amita and Madeline. They sounded very angry. Cho took a deep breath and entered the Common Room.

She stood near the doorway and watched as her two best friends shouted loudly and fervently as each other. Both were standing up. People were looking at them.

"…How can you NOT know why I'm angry!" Amita shouted.

"Well, I'm sorry; I suppose I'm just STUPID!" Madeline yelled at equal volume.

"YOU HAD SEX WITH ROGER DAVIES!" Now they'd drawn a small crowd.

"SO?"

Amita looked stumped for a moment, but recovered.

"You're a right SLUT, Madeline. You two aren't even involved!"

Madeline was purple in the face with anger.

"And this is coming from _you_, Amita! You've only slept with half the _bloody_ school!"

"WELL, MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE CONSIDERED YOUR FRIENDS BEFORE YOU'D GONE OFF AND _SLEPT_ WITH ROGER DAVIES!"

"WHY THE HELL SHOULD I! IT'S NOT OF YOUR CONCERN AT ALL, IS IT?"

Amita looked near tears. At this point, Cho decided to leave. She thought it best not to get in the middle of a near-catfight, and made her way through the crowd of whispering spectators. So apparently Amita liked Davies. What a fiasco.

* * *

The halls of the school were cool and empty that evening. She strolled calmly, ears still ringing with Amita and Madeline's heated voices. She thought about Amita and Madeline. School. Her parents. Quidditch. Sex. She wandered aimlessly around the school, and didn't realize she had ended up in front of the Slytherin Common Room until a familiar voice cut through her reveries.

"Up for stalking me now, eh, Chang?" Draco Malfoy was standing with a group of his Slytherin cronies. Cho hadn't even seen him.

"Making my daily rounds, Malfoy," she lied. After all, she was a prefect. She glanced over at the group he was with: Crabbe and Goyle, Marcus Flint, Pansy Parkinson, and another girl with long blonde hair Cho didn't know the name of. All were giving her horrifying death glares.

"Actually, it was good you stopped by, Chang. Snape's told me our new little arrangement—looks like you really fucked up that paper."

Cho decided not to respond to this. Malfoy walked over to her.

"The Silver Shiver Lily only blooms at early dawn," Malfoy said, leading Cho farther away. His tone seemed to change considerably as he left the company of his posse, "I expect Snape wanted us to figure that out ourselves."

"Then, we should be there at say…5:00 tomorrow morning?" Cho asked.

"I would say earlier- I looked it up and found they appear right before the sun rises. We'd want them at their prime, after all." Cho was surprised at the lengths he had taken to find this information. She had always thought Malfoy was a bit of a slacker.

"Alright…how about 3:30?"

"Sounds grand. See you bright and early tomorrow, Chang. Don't be late." As Cho went on her way, she saw the glowering eyes of Pansy Parkinson and the girl-with-no-name follow her movements contemptuously.

_I hope I haven't caused a riot with them_ she thought with an amused snigger. Quite spent, she made her way through the marble courtyard that led back to the East Tower. The breeze lightly tickled her face.


	10. Ch 8: The Cove

_Ch. 8: The Cove_

_Three o'clock. Three o'clock? Holy Mother of God._

Used to ten hours of sleep at a minimum, Cho realized how the next morning would go. It was truly awful.

_And Malfoy is such an ass._

She wondered what Amita and Madeline were up to. Scattered in pieces across the Common Room floor? She knew not.

She cautiously stepped into the Common Room and looked around. It was deserted, save her own books and parchment which were still lying in front of the fire. It was 9:00—she'd been gone for nearly two hours.

Gathering her things, she headed up to her dormitory. Despite the time, it was disturbingly quiet. She walked into her room and found Amita on her bed, doing her homework furiously. Madeline was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey there, babe," Cho said, dropping her quills and parchments and sitting down next to her.

"Hey," Amita replied flatly. She didn't take her eyes away from her parchment.

"You alright?"

Amita looked up. Cho couldn't really read the expression on her face, but she knew exactly what was on her mind.

"What do you think?" she said bitterly.

Cho sighed and sat back. "Don't take it out on me," she said, checking her nails, "Where's Madeline?"

Amita hesitated and cast an irritated look. "I have no idea, and I really don't care."

"Why didn't you just tell her? Or me for that matter? Hell, I'm your best friend." Cho had a tendency for being very blunt indeed.

"Tell you _what,_ exactly?" Amita's eyes narrowed.

"About Roger,"

"What about Roger?"

Cho felt the familiar spasm of annoyance.

"That you _fancied_ him and all,"

Amita stopped and her brows furrowed terribly.

"Don't try and ignore it, sweetie," Cho said. She was being a tad harsh.

"Fine. So you've caught me. Big deal. Can we drop it? I have enough on my mind already without your meddling, _Chang_,"

Cho cracked a smile. She was sure it would work out eventually. She changed the topic:

"So, I have to be at the North Pond by 3:30 tomorrow morning."

"Shit,"

"I know."

End of conversation.

After an hour and a half of finishing homework, Cho took a shower and got ready for bed. Madeline was still absent. Cho didn't blame her for it.

Amita was already sound asleep by the time Cho climbed into bed. The soft blue silk of her sheets stroked against her thighs gently as she settled in and switched off her lamp. She fell asleep after yet another day of undeniable prudeness.

* * *

_Three o'clock, get up, get up!_

Cho cursed her alarm as it chirped and purred its waking call. She knocked it onto the floor where it shouted offensively,

_Lazy arse._

"Shut _up_," Cho mumbled. She lay in bed for another ten minutes, contemplating her exhaustion. Finally, she dragged herself out and cringed horribly the moment her feet touched the floor.

"Christ," she rubbed her eyes and stumbled to the bathroom. She had to wash her face three times before she could focus on her image in the mirror. She dressed quickly, grabbed a pair of robes, and started for the North Pond. The grounds were warm for three in the morning. The sky was dark, but she could see quite clearly. The pond was located a great distance from the castle: past the Quidditch Pitch, so Cho spent nearly ten minutes hiking through the damp grass.

The North Pond lay humming next to a small cave. The willow trees surrounding the whole of the pond had been magicked to grow to stupendous heights for environmental purposes; the long, green arms barely brushed the surface of the water. Cho had never been there the entire seven years she had attended Hogwarts, and the sight made her stop and smile. It was truly a sight. The slick, silent air was broken only by the soft croaks of bullfrogs, and sure enough, the water was thickly populated with the gleaming water lilies. The moon had vanished now, and everything lay softly in the blue dawn. It was 3:40, and Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

Cho stretched, yawned, and settled herself down in the dew, enjoying the vision. After another fifteen minutes, she was becoming quite annoyed. Malfoy had still not shown up. Cho got up and walked the perimeter of the pond, making frogs jump and splash. She realized that as the morning progressed, the lilies moved slowly closer to the center of the pond. She glanced at the time: another ten minutes had gone by.

"Stupid fucking Slytherins," she muttered, kicking at the grass. She figured Draco, being the prick that he was, had stood her up…so to speak. She decided after another ten minutes to do the job herself; the sun would begin to rise within the next half hour. By now, most all the lilies had drifted away from the shore.

"Shit," she scoffed, scratching her head. She tested the water, which was surprisingly cold, and decided after some time to swim out and retrieve the flowers herself. She did not want to run the risk of damaging them with a Summoning Charm.

She hesitated and looked around before she started to undress. The silence was piercing; there was no one around for miles. She kicked off her shoes and socks, and dropped her robes, making sure to set them under a neat charm that kept them dry. Next, she pulled off her sweater with some difficulty, and then her jeans.

_No harm in a quick morning skinny-dip in the North Pond,_ she thought happily. She brushed her long mane of hair to one side and reached to un-clasp her bra when something very unpredicted made her cease immediately and look around furiously.

"Stop," a voice demanded quickly. She searched outrageously in every direction, face white with fury. Finally, her eyes rested upon a tall, startled figure a good 20 yards behind her. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy stood, frozen, obviously just having recently entered the premises.

"Malfoy!" she gasped, turning immediately from white to a blushing carnation pink. She wondered how long he had been watching her—probably for no more than a minute, but he stopped her right before she'd undone her bra…

He seemed at a loss for words for a fraction of a second—something very unlike him. He stood, staring at Cho for a moment before recovering his trademark expression.

"Slept late—don't make such a ruckus, Chang." He turned his back on her, allowing her to wrap her robes around herself tightly.

"You're nearly an _hour_ late, Malfoy. The lilies are in the middle of the fucking pond."

He turned around and smirked.

"Then I suppose I should join you in retrieving them?"

Cho cocked her head. She had every reason to shout at him, but refrained. Instead, she regarded him cautiously. Malfoy certainly looked very sleep-logged indeed. His usual perfectly kept hair was standing on-end, and he had deep circles under his grey eyes. His tone remained flawless, however. Cho wondered if he ever faltered in his speech.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, shedding his robes, "Turn around, Chang. Simple courtesy."

A moment later, Malfoy called her attention with an 'Oy' and she turned to face him again, still clutching her robes around herself. Malfoy stood in his boxers. He was rather skinny, with only a faint hint of muscle definition—the product of being a Seeker. His light hair was impossibly unruly, and his eyes glittered darkly.

"Shall we then?" He started for the pond. Cho watched as he waded in, flinching as the water reached above his knees. Cho looked down at herself, and smiled for no reason. She discarded her robes and met the water in her knickers and bra.

The water was ice-cold. She dared to swim out farther, and by the time she had caught up with Malfoy, she was completely numb.

"Bugger," she muttered through clattering teeth.

"Well, now. Look at that," Draco said, pointing ahead. No more than three yards away were the lilies, gathered tightly. The name given to the Silver Shiver Lily was certainly well earned, for they were undoubtedly silver and undoubtedly beautiful. They appeared white from afar, but up close, their luscious, slender petals gleamed soft metallic. Curious, Cho moved closer and gently laid her hand on the closest one.

"Christ," she said, not taking her eyes off the brilliant flower.

"Take it then, I haven't got all morning. I'd rather keep my balls from freezing off," Draco interrupted. Cho scoffed and moved to lift it when she felt something very slimy and unpleasant attach to her leg. Before she had a chance to react, she felt several more, and saw that Draco had the same, disgusted expression on his face.

"What the hell…?" Draco took his arm from the water, and Cho saw four large black leeches firmly fastened. Cho shook and kicked, but she felt more and more leeches attach to her body. She was being dragged into the water.

"Shit!" she screamed, fighting wildly to regain the surface. Too many. She quickly became more and more weighted, and soon she could barely swim. She was now a good yard under the water.

_So I'm going to die drowning. Good._

Where was Malfoy? The leeches were gargantuan.

And then, she was engulfed in a vat of boiling water…was that salt she detected? As soon as she felt the leeches fall away, she swam heavily back to oxygen. She hit the air, and immediately, a pair of arms seized her around the waist and dragged her toward the shore.

Land.

Cho was now sitting in the grass, clad in her undergarments with Draco Malfoy draped on top of her. Very aware of this, Malfoy quickly stood up.

"Sorry about that," he said without missing a beat, "You've a leech in your hair." He snatched the black thing from her hair and tossed it hastily back into the pond. They were standing uncomfortably close. Cho looked up at him.

"Your boxers are dashing, but d'you mind if we change back into our robes and never speak of this again?"

Malfoy laughed. Cho had never seen him laugh before.

* * *

Once safely back into their clothing, Malfoy and Cho agreed to use a Summoning Charm on the lilies, despite the minor damage it caused. Snape would have to deal with it. By the time they'd reached the castle, it was just before 5:00. Anxious to hop back into bed, Cho bid a quick goodbye. She turned to leave, when Malfoy (with bedraggled hair and soaking clothes) touched her ever so lightly on the arm to gain her attention. He smiled very hesitantly and Cho's stomach did a little dance.


	11. Ch 9: Ball Bearing Spring

_Ch. 9: Ball Bearing Spring_

Cho was rudely awakened.

"Cho, get up!"

She groaned and batted at the air.

"Cho! Come on, class starts in ten. Move your arse."

Cho really considered skipping classes that day, but she thought better. Seeping out of bed, she quickly dressed and freshened up. She still smelled of pond water.

"How'd it go last night?" Madeline asked as the two of them hurried to their first class.

"I'll tell you later," she said, yawning. She wasn't quite sure _what _to tell yet, "So what about you and Amita?"

"I'll tell _you_ later," And they trudged into class.

This situation made it difficult for everyone. Madeline sulked, Amita snarled, and Cho ended up the highly irritated messenger. And screw the actual lecture—note-passing was vigorous today.

For the first time ever, Cho considered Divination a relief.

"Amita," she stated firmly as they settled down in the smelly classroom, "I cannot keep doing this. It's simply juvenile! Just apologize."

"I am not apologizing."

"You must!"

"No."

"You're an absolute head-case."

"I'm fine with being an absolute head-case. I'm not apologizing."

"You can't be angry at someone for something so trivial! Madeline didn't even know. If you'd have told us, this wouldn't have happened."

"Then she shouldn't have lied,"

"People make mistakes."

Amita said nothing. Cho sighed. She was spent, and very annoyed, so she stopped trying. Besides, she smelled like algae.

Today, they started their unit on crystal ball gazing. Cho believed it was pure codswallop, but pretended like she was interested. She was instructed to observe her ball closely, but before she had a chance, Professor Trelawney floated up behind her and startled her so, that Cho nearly knocked the glass sphere of the table.

"Mmm! Child, I predict that you're very apprehensive at this time in your life…" Professor Trelawney said wisely.

"Shit, I'd have never guessed," Cho muttered under her breath. Amita snorted.

"What was that?" Professor Trelawney swept to face her.

"Nothing, Professor,"

"Now, let me have a look at your _destiny_…give it here, give it here," she motioned madly with her bangle-clad arms. Cho pushed the crystal ball to face her. For several moments, Professor Trelawney stared thoughtfully into the ball, emitting the occasional "Hmm", or shake of the head. Most of the class was watching, bored out of their minds. Finally, she looked up at Cho.

"Child," she was uncomfortably close, and Cho grew slightly dizzy from looking at the hugely magnified eyes. "Something very new and very exciting is about to enter your life. Be wary, oh yes, prepared indeed…" and she sort of trailed off. When Professor Trelawney had swept off to her next victim, Cho snickered and whispered to Amita,

"I could write a better fortune cookie, honestly."

Amita nodded. "Get a load of this, Cho." She pointed her wand at her ball and it immediately started to vibrate and sing vulgarly.

Cho laughed, but stopped when Professor Trelawney appeared again out of nowhere, very livid indeed.

"Chang! Lahiri! This is a classroom, _not_ a zoo!" the ball continued its crooning. "The art of fortune-telling should be respected—" she was cut off by their headmaster's booming, projected voice:

"_All sixth and seventh years must report to the Great Hall for an assembly."_

Cho stood up.

"Sorry, professor, but I've got to run. Continue later, I assume?" Cho and Amita hurried out before Professor Trelawney could yell at them more.

* * *

The Great Hall was crowded and chattering by the time Cho and Amita arrived. Both being prefects, they had slight notions of what awaited- there had been talk of a senior ball of some sort. The details were quite unknown, but from what Cho had heard, it was going to be grand. Another five minutes passed, and Professor McGonagall's voice cut through clearly, producing silence.

"It has been proposed this year that there be a senior spring ball," A wave of excited voices swept the hall at once. Professor McGonagall looked peeved.

"Attention!" she barked, and the talk receded once again.

"Now," she stated clearly, "since the body of the seventh-year class is not quite sufficient for a proper ball, sixth-years are also permitted to participate." She paused. "However, no student below the sixth year is allowed to join. This event is a strict exception to Hogwarts policy, and the staff will not accept any wild behavior." Her lips thinned. "The date is set to take place on the thirteenth of May—precisely two Saturdays from today…"

Cho noted Professor McGonagall's restricted tone; it seemed she was not particularly pleased with the arrangements. On the other hand, Cho was simply delighted. This ball was certainly a specialty…and for it to fall exactly on her last year at Hogwarts, she felt blessed. It was a last chance for teary-eyes and glamour…and of course, shopping for the perfect gown. Cho glanced at Amita, and they both smiled knowingly.

* * *

Cho and Amita were on their way to Potions, both ecstatic and ceaselessly chattering.

"This is absolutely superb!" Cho exclaimed.

"We need to go looking for gowns immediately," Amita declared.

"Hogsmeade?"

"Precisely."

As they entered the dungeons, Cho was so elated that she nearly forgot to hand her assignment to Snape.

"Have a bit of a wrangle with the leeches, Chang?" Snape inquired, "I forgot to warn you about them,"

"Oh…yes," Cho said, and gave over the lily carefully.

Snape regarded it carefully. "It seems in relatively good shape, despite minor harm to the stem…Summoning Charm, I assume?" Cho nodded.

"Well, you seemed to have found the appropriate methods for achieving and obtaining it…but five points off for the damage."

"Thank you, professor." Cho was perfectly fine with a 95.

Cho convinced Amita to skip the remainder of their classes that day. The sun was brilliant, and the grounds looked perfect. They were too happy to care about their dingy lectures.

"So I never had a chance to ask you—how was this morning?" Amita asked as the two of them found a comfortable spot in the sun right next to the lake.

Cho thought a moment. "Alright, I suppose," she said, trying to sound indifferent. She wasn't sure why, but she felt guilty. "Got attacked by leeches, though."

"Ooohh…tough. Malfoy give you any trouble?"

Beat.

"No,"

"Good. He's such a wanker,"

"Yes."

Amita regarded her skeptically as Cho kicked off her shoes and socks.

"Brilliant." Cho smiled as she spread her toes in the fresh grass. Beautiful, beautiful.

* * *

Cho scampered off to practice delighted, for the weather was still superb. The Quidditch poles cast long shadows, and the air was crisp and sweet. With her broom over her shoulder she walked gaily onto the playing field and thought nothing of anything.

She was early, for it was only one of the team's Beaters, Patrick Gibbons, and a Chaser by the name of Farrell that were present and only beginning to suit up. She positioned herself in the sun and was just beginning to lace her boots, when something—someone—made her stomach lurch ever so slightly (and not in a particularly good way).

The handsome figure of Roger Davies approached her and she flinched when she thought of the terrible rumpus he had inflicted upon her friends (and herself, now that she thought of it).

"Chang," he said politely.

"Davies," she acknowledged, standing up (even if her eyes were still level with his chest). He seemed highly constricted. She sniggered in her head.

After a bit of awkward silence, Roger opened his mouth.

"It's daft, I know…but since this—my involvement with Madeline…well, I think I've really started...to fancy her,"

A little red light went off in Cho's head.

"Well, you're her friend, and I just wanted to run it over with you and make sure you wouldn't bite my head off or anything,"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm glad that's out in the open," Cho said.

"Good," Roger said, looking pleased. He obviously hadn't picked up the tinge of cynicism in her voice. Then again, Roger had never been the sharpest pencil in the box. "I was thinking of asking her to the ball. D'you think it'll go over well?"

_Not with Amita_… Cho thought wearily.

"Yeah, yeah I think it will,"

He didn't smile, merely nodded, but Cho could tell he was immensely thrilled. More people were showing up for practice. Roger remained in his spot, but barked at the team to begin warming up. He looked at Cho.

"D'you think she fancies me?" he asked quietly, eyes bright.

"Christ, Davies. What are we, twelve?"

She thought a direct answer would do no one any good.

* * *

She was very sore. Davies had kept them at practice until nine o'clock that night, and Cho was simply exhausted. However she found her self lying in bed, unable to sleep. Instead, on her mind, was Draco Malfoy.

Why was she finding it so difficult to confess (if it was a confession at all) this little experience of hers? After all, Amita and Madeline would probably just dismiss it as simple asshole behavior. What had she to lose? She certainly did not find him appealing…in fact he represented everything she despised: the pompous smirk, the disgusting posse. He was a damn Slytherin! But that smile—that fleeting moment of understanding and tenderness—why had she found that to be so…breathtaking? She was ashamed. But he was off-limits…_she_ was off-limits. He was a prick. An ass, a wanker, a bastard, prat, bugger, git, twat, arse, sodding idiot. Draco fucking Malfoy. And she couldn't help it.

* * *

The next two days proceeded quite blandly. Usually in this type of circumstance, Amita, Madeline and Cho would be talking it up—what were they going to wear, who was currently coupled, and who was available? Instead, Cho found Amita unwilling to speak of anything more than dresses, and Madeline had already been asked to go (by Roger, of course). Cho had planned to make two shopping trips—one with each Amita and Madeline. Surely, these bickerings were pure nonsense, and Cho was appalled that it had not yet resolved.

That Saturday, Cho was up at noon (on the nose) and woke Amita to go to Hogsmeade. They dressed lightly (for spring weather), and walked off together down the hill of the castle. The weather made them all the more giddy about the prospect of shopping, and soon the two were prancing around all the clothing shops in the small centre, all smiles. First, they browsed in the most prestigious and popular store, Madam Kay's Robes, finding nothing, then off to seven more stores. The dresses were lovely, but not what either of them were looking for—collectively they estimated they had tried on, and rejected, fifty outfits…at least. Amita was looking for something genuinely Indian, and Cho was looking for anything that was pretty (which probably accounted for the large pile of discarded gowns in each store they hit). Finally, when they were about to give up for the day, they hit upon a small store at the end of a block.

"Mary's Clothing Boutique," Cho said, reading the painted sign. The 'open' sign hung peeling and slightly askew, and the surrounding stores were questionable.

"Mmm, looks a bit dodgy," Amita said tentatively, "But let's give it a try,"

They pushed open the small, wooden door, and entered. The floor was a light wood, apparently very old, but clean. The walls were a cozy pink, edged with white moldings and antique wall lamps. Racks of gowns and clothes and hats lined the whole of the store, and the air contained a faint aroma of peppermint and lemon.

"Quite promising," Cho said thoughtfully, looking through one of the racks, "And you thought it was _dodgy_,"

The store was certainly unusual, for all the merchandise was distinctive and even quaint (but in the best way possible). Cho picked out a few gowns, one red, one yellow, one green. None hit the nail on the head. However, Amita found the absolute perfect outfit: a beautiful fuchsia sari bedecked with gold and shininess.

While Amita stood in her dressing room admiring her success, Cho flipped casually through a few more racks.

_Ugly…ugly …too bright…ugly…slutty!...not the right size…poofy…_ and then a vision of pure brilliance. She grabbed it off the hangar and tried it on for size in the dressing room. It was perfect. And fabulous. She refused to show it to anybody until the following Saturday. Despite the minor anxiety attack Amita suffered from it.

* * *

And so Cho went shopping again with Madeline the following day. The air was warm, but the sun was blocked by impending rain clouds.

"So what are we looking for today?" Madeline asked as they entered their first store.

"Well…" Cho tried to put it in the right words, "I'm looking for accessories—jewelry and whatnot…a dress for you!"

"You're not looking for a dress?"

"I've found one!"

"Without me?"

Cho knew this would happen.

"I was wandering around here yesterday with Amita, and I found the perfect dress,"

"Hm,"

"Don't be mad at me, Maddie. I can't go shopping with both of you."

"…But you went with _Amita_ first," she said, saying 'Amita' with slight disdain.

"You couldn't come. You were with Roger."

"Yes…but…"

"Well, I very well can't go out with you while you're getting your bloody oats from Roger, now can I?"

Madeline allowed a laugh.

"I suppose not. Well…what does your dress look like?"

"I can't tell you," Cho said, looking at more clothes, "Secret, mind you."

Madeline stood aghast.

"Tell me!"

"No."

"Then I'll sneak into your drawers and steal it,"

"I hid it," Cho said airily. She loved doing this. "How 'bout this one, Mad?" She pulled out a lovely yellow number.

Madeline tried it on.

"Blooming canary," was Cho's immediate response (she couldn't suppress). Certainly not a hit.

And then there were several more gowns, and several more shops. Finally, they came to Mary's Clothing Boutique.

"Ooh, you absolutely _must_ look in here. It's a bit dodgy," Cho said, remembering Amita's comment, "But simply lovely."

Within seconds, Madeline had picked out several outfits and had scampered to the dressing rooms. The first was dark blue with an impossible number of frills. The second was bright pink, and they both agreed that it was not her color. The third was a charm. Emerald green with inch-thick straps and sweeping back, it was flawless. It was bought in a heartbeat.

* * *

It was raining. At first, a tickling drizzle, and then huge, fat droplets. In no time, the sky was near-black and thundering. To keep their newly bought possessions (and themselves) from becoming soaked, Madeline and Cho hurried into the first café they spotted. The shop was very crowded and stuffy, so the two worked their way into an empty corner. They dropped their things and Cho sat down.

"I'm going to get some tea or something," Madeline said, standing up, "You want anything?"

"Erm…just a latte,"

Madeline quickly disappeared into the crowd. Cho surveyed the shop. She spotted a few fifth-year Ravenclaws she did not recognize, several Hufflepuffs sitting at one table, and some Slytherins scattered about. Growing bored, she took the liberty of making the napkins and coffee stirrers that were on her table do tricks. Madeline was taking an awfully long time. Another five minutes, and she grew impatient. She stood up, making sure not to stray too far (in case of nasty thieves) and looked around for a sign of her friend. The crowd was overwhelming. She tried to keep out of the way, but without much success. The thunder shook the small café sending shivers down spines and spoons clattering.

"Excuse me…pardon…excuse me—" Cho was making her way to the counter, hoping to see Madeline. After squeezing her way by a particularly large person, she halted when someone who was making his way against the crowd spilled coffee all over her.

"Oh, Christ," Cho said, sighing. She didn't even bother to make a scene. However, when she lifted her head, she was startled to see the exact person she least wanted to meet at the present moment.

"I didn't see you there, Chang," Draco Malfoy drawled as he bent to pick up his empty coffee mugs, "Bloody zoo in here, honestly."

"Oh," he said when he noticed Cho regarding her soaked apparel. He muttered a charm, and she was dry once again.

"I could have done that myself, Malfoy," Cho said.

"And you're very welcome,"

Cho started out of the crowd, with Malfoy behind her. Once in a cleared spot, Malfoy looked out the window. The rain was near impossible to see through, and lightening struck the sky every six seconds.

"Weather's quite a bitch," Draco said, quite lazily. Cho immediately wanted be outside in the storm instead of there, in that smelly shop, accompanied by Draco Malfoy. Talking about the weather, of all things.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Cho said, looking away.

Draco scanned the shop. It appeared he was waiting for someone as well.

"So, this ball. You snatched a date yet?" he inquired with a smirk playing on his lips.

"Nope,"

"That's really quite a shame,"

Cho was aggravated.

"Have you, Malfoy? Snatched a date?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Why of course I have."

"Very well," she said, keeping her tone indifferent. "I really must be going,"

"Nice chatting," he said. She walked past him. For no particular reason, she glanced back, and saw Malfoy's eyes quickly revert.

_What an ass._

* * *

The storm subsided after twenty more minutes (though it was still raining), and Cho and Madeline started back to the castle. As they approached the main entrance, they were greeted quite unpredictably.

"Hey, Chang," A taunting voice came from their right. Cho turned around and saw Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and the blonde from the other day leaning against the stone wall, cigarettes in-hand.

"Oh…hello, Parkinson," Cho donned her formal Head-Girl exterior.

"Don't give me that shit, Chang," Pansy said menacingly, stepping closer, "I know what you've been up to,"

Cho could honestly not think of anything that she had done to offend. Madeline cast a questioning look.

"And what is that?" she asked, even-toned.

"We don't want your filthy hands on our men," Pansy said.

Cho had to stifle a chuckle. She found this quite funny.

"We saw you prancing around with Draco Malfoy this afternoon, bitch," the girl with long, blonde hair said (in a sinister way).

"Oh," Cho started, "I'm afraid you've been mistaken. We talked merely of the weather,"

"Fuck the weather. Chang, we're on to you,"

Cho wondered if they had stolen their lines from Muggle mafia movies.

"Well…alright then," Cho said. They looked slightly irritated by Cho's passive responses. In turn, the blonde got up very close to Cho—into her face.

"Don't give us your snarky shit, _Chang,_" she hissed. She was no taller than Cho, but was very mean indeed.

"Sabrina," Pansy warned. She'd remembered that Cho was a prefect. The blonde, Sabrina, backed off with a snarl fixed on her face. Out of pure amusement, Cho decided to impose further hostility.

"I reckon…five points from Slytherin for your serious lack of judgment—honestly girls, I'm Head Girl—and another ten for your horrible choice of threats."

She smiled slyly, and bid good day.


	12. Ch 10: Clemency and Inclement Weather

_Ch. 10: Clemency and Inclement Weather_

"Who do they think they are, accusing you of messing around with Draco Malfoy, of all people?" Madeline asked when they were back in their room.

"He's chatted with me a couple times…didn't know it was such a big deal," Cho said after a bit of thinking; she wanted to put it in the most casual way possible.

"He _chatted_ with you?" Madeline said with a somewhat ironic tone in her voice. She threw her purchases onto her bed, "Hah, it almost sounds chummy." She laughed.

"Sure does," Cho said. She didn't like talking about this subject. It made her nervous.

The next week was lively. People left and right were ridiculously giddy and chattering endlessly about the upcoming event.

Maybe it was just the weather. After all, it wasn't that much of a deal—the grass was merely green.

Madeline already had been asked by Roger Davies. By Tuesday, Amita was asked by Cameron Grant, the tall, bespeckled Keeper of the Quidditch team. Again, Cho felt that familiar twinge of jealously and insecurity. She wondered if she had recently acquired an invisible repellent. Not that she was desperate…but she wanted the flattery at least.

Wednesday came and went. More girls were being asked to go to the ball, and none of them were Cho. Two more days left until the ball. She sulked quietly.

"I'm sure someone will ask you…there's still two days left, after all," Amita said sympathetically. Cho appreciated the concern, but not the pity. If no one asked her, she would be left alone to stand by the wall. It was _her_ senior ball! And she intended to be the center of attention.

It was Thursday evening, and Cho and Amita sat in the courtyard, parchments at hand. The sun was low, the air was cool, and other students lounged quietly, scattered on the stone benches or the grass. It seemed that after a week's worth of gossip and flirting and blushing, people were just beginning to settle down and engross themselves in the calm. Only, for Cho, that wasn't the case. Really, it wasn't so much of a catastrophe… in fact, she had convinced herself that going without a date would be perfectly fine. But what was eating her was that no one at all had even made an attempt. She was terribly frustrated.

Amita was writing furiously, but Cho sat idly, playing with her quill and staring at her ink-well.

_What a load of bollocks, _she thought, _I don't deserve this. Damn, I used to be one of the first to be asked to any sort of event. What…am I off-limits? It's bloody ridiculous…_

Her spiteful ponderings were cut short when someone approached her. Cho stopped chewing on her quill, and turned lazily, for she was in quite an atrocious state. She'd expected Roger Davies, or some other twot to come and remind her of practice or whatnot. However, she was quite surprised to find herself looking at Harry Potter. It was late in the day, and his hair was jutting out in every direction.

"Harry! Hello," she said, staging a cool smile. She knew already what he was going to say, noticing his shifting posture and curious expression. She braced herself.

"Hello, Cho. How are you?"

"I'm well. And you?"

Harry adjusted his glasses.

"Fine," he paused, and looked at her, "I was wondering…have you already found someone to go with to the ball?"

Cho smirked inside.

"No, Harry,"

Harry immediately perked up. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Then, would you like to go with me?" he asked. "For old times' sake," he added. Cho remembered the similar circumstance in her fifth year, and smiled.

"Of course. Meet me in the Hall at say…8:00?" she said.

"Uh, yeah. See you then," and he turned to leave before she had a chance to mention a goodbye.

"Quite an improvement from two years ago, eh, Cho?" Amita taunted.

"He's a bit of a loony," Cho speculated, "But, damn. So glad someone asked me."

"He's quite the little cutie,"

Cho laughed.

* * *

And so Cho had a date to the ball. It had taken a while, but she had one. Even if it was Harry Potter. Sure, he was a tad bit adorable, but she told herself that he was a date, and only a date: too annoying to get involved with again.

It was Saturday at 7:30 in the evening. Cho grew more and more aggravated that Amita and Madeline kept their little conflict going for so long, but to ease matters, she had made separate arrangements for getting pretty. They all looked ravishing.

Seven fifty-five, and Cho left her room to meet Harry. She noticed (with slight smugness) that she turned heads as she walked down the packed stone corridors. The school was a-buzz with very primped, very eager sixth and seventh-year students.

Cho listened to the soft clicks of her heels against the marble as she trekked the long distance to the Great Hall. Turning the corner she saw Harry, leaning against the stair pillar.

She stood, like a fairytale, at the top of the grand staircase in full gown and glitter. Harry straightened quickly and looked at her, eyes-all-a-gleam. She wore a white dress—a shiny satin: very Hepburn-esque (Audrey). Strapless, hemmed at the top with black lace and a thin black ribbon around the waist to not give the impression of a wedding dress. To accessorize: long black gloves and a beautiful (and sizeable) lattice of jewels fastened around her neck. Her hair was thrown up in an elegant up-do with stands of curls hanging down behind her ears.

Harry looked quite impressed. A bit dazed, but nonetheless very impressed. He himself did not look too badly. Cho always liked a man in a suit.

The Great Hall was decorated marvelously. Cho thought it strange, for she had just been in there the previous morning to eat breakfast—then it had been perfectly bland and normal (of course, she was quite aware of a little something called magic, but it was still such a hoot). The usual long dining tables were gone and the floor had been cleaned and polished to a crystal sparkle. The ceiling was afloat with large, dimly lit lanterns and the walls were draped in soft blues. Fairies hovered here and there.

"_Cho,_" Harry said after a while.

She smiled: an acknowledgment. Then she turned her attention to the grandeur of their surroundings, "Looks bloody amazing,"

"I'll say," Harry said, looking at anything but the décor.

* * *

They had arrived a bit early: the band was barely beginning to play and most people were still sitting at the small, candlelit tables that were scattered near the walls. Cho was going to propose to sit down, but was cut short by a loud, excited "Oy!"

Harry's freckled friend, Ronald Weasley had come out of nowhere, accompanied by a girl by the name of Lavender Brown, presumably his date, and a lone Hermione Granger.

"Harry, mate!" he hit Harry on the back, and then glanced at Cho. Cho stood silent for a moment. Hermione, sensing the slight tension, spoke up.

"Hello, Cho. Having a good time?"

Cho felt a bit like a deterrent, but she had no choice but to join in conversation. She only wondered where Amita and Madeline were off to…

"Oh…we just got here. Not much going on now, I suppose," she motioned toward the stage where the band was still setting up. She paused and cocked her head, "Haven't you got a date, Hermione?" She asked this because Hermione was alone, and with Ronald Weasley and his date. Cho had always assumed the Weasley fellow and Hermione had something together, but this Lavender girl was most definitely all over him; it was quite disgusting really, and Cho crinkled her nose. However, we shan't delve too deeply into it. Back to the story:

"Yes," she sighed, motioning at an approaching figure. It was a boy Cho did not know the name of. He saw Cho; looked her up and down before saying hello.

"Seamus Finnagan," he introduced himself as in a surprising Irish accent. He was tall—quite tall—with lively eyes and a very charismatic manner about him, "And you…must be Cho Chang. Harry's little wet dream, I presume?"

Harry choked a bit at this, Hermione opened her mouth to object, and Ron snorted. Cho laughed.

"Finnagan!" Harry warned. And Seamus Finnagan flashed a sneaky smile at Cho. Harry looked flustered and soon enough, he ushered Cho away from the group.

"What a sod," Harry said through clenched teeth.

Cho snickered, "Oh, don't worry about it Harry. He's really quite charming."

"He's not charming, he's a sod."

"You're too hard on people." And they settled at a table the color of peppermint pasties.

Another half-hour of small talk, and Cho wanted a drink. Harry offered to go retrieve one for her, but to be honest, Cho just wanted a break. She made her way through the quickly developing crowd to the punch fountain. The Hall was now loud and crowded—the music was blaring and it smelled distinctly of people.

She found a clean goblet and filled it, stood sipping for a while. Where were Amita and Madeline, for crying out loud? This ball was a flop thus far—Harry was such a git. And here she was, engulfed in a sea of very sweaty people, her best friends not even present to provide the needed comfort. How very disappointing.

She turned around, ready to leave when she saw one Draco Malfoy, standing not four yards away. He was with his friends, only he was not part of the apparently hilarious conversation. His face was neutral, head tilted a bit to the side- eyes drifted to look directly at Cho. She was startled—both by his presence and by her own involuntary reaction: her stomach did a dreadful double take. She did not understand.

When Malfoy had seen that she had noticed him, he twitched—she had never seen Malfoy twitch—and quickly re-joined his group's conversation. Cho tossed her goblet down, and returned quite reluctantly to her date with Harry Potter.

As Harry came back into sight, she actually sighed.

* * *

Another four dances and Harry still hadn't asked her to dance. He insisted on sitting idly and making sketchy conversation. Cho didn't know why he was being such a boring, _stupid_ arse—it wasn't like they did not know each other at all. Finally, she had grown too impatient. She was going to dance with her date—be it Harry or not.

"Harry, we're dancing. Come on."

Harry looked so surprised that he knocked a fork off the table.

"Come along," she stood up, and they walked toward the center of the Hall.

She had three minutes of sweaty fingers, trod-on feet and simply horrible music to face. They started dancing, and Cho started to wish there was an escape latch somewhere close.

The song was slow, moaning, absolutely irritating. With very bad instrumentals. And then she bumped into someone.

"I see you've lowered yourself, Chang. Potter? Truly. How distasteful."

Harry looked about to kill.

"Malfoy," he said in a tone nothing short of absolute and unadulterated loathing, "Get the _fuck_ out of here."

Malfoy chose to ignore him, kept his attention on Cho. He was dancing with a pink-clad Pansy Parkinson, who was in fact, glaring hideously at Cho. Surprisingly, Malfoy's hair was not greased back, his wavy blonde tresses (if you can call them that) left to fall freely (she never noticed he had wavy hair. Hm). He wore black robes over a white dress shirt and tie. Very neat.

"Potter seems a bit touchy, Chang. Wonder what's got him up in a twist?" He winked

"Don't start, Malfoy," Cho said resignedly, "You aggravate far too much,"

Harry still looked furious, and his grip around her waist tightened.

"Potter, I must probe. How did you, of all people, manage to snag a girl like Chang? Now, Granger, I can understand…" Before Malfoy could finish his sentence, Harry had him by the shirt collar.

"Shut _up_, Malfoy," he said maliciously. Some people were watching curiously, hoping for a fight.

"Oh, stop it Potter, you're making me blush," Malfoy said in a perfectly conversational voice. Cho pushed Harry off of Malfoy.

"Harry! What the fuck is your problem?" She led the vein-popping Harry hastily away despite the disappointed objection from the crowd. She thought Harry was being extraordinarily daft and she couldn't help saying it.

"Malfoy had been your _arch nemesis_ for half of your life, Harry! I thought you'd have built up an immunity by now—he only does it to see if he can get a laugh…or a vein to pop. Honestly, control yourself."

Harry looked mad.

"He insulted you right in front of me," he said furiously.

"I'm quite capable of dealing with those issues myself," she said indignantly.

"But—" he stopped himself. "I'm sorry." But he didn't look any less angry.

It was arguably more maddening for Cho.

Again, another session of sitting. Harry seemed to be sulking. Cho sat, playing with her glass, wondering where the hell her friends were. And then a miracle.

"Cho!"

Cho looked up and saw, with a great rush of relief, Madeline pulling Roger Davies behind her.

"Well, speak of the devil!" Cho said, instantly brightening, "Where the _fuck_ have you been all night?"

"Around," Madeline said, blushing, "It's only been forty-five minutes, don't shout." She had her emerald gown on—brilliantly shiny earrings to match. Her hair was down in vivacious corkscrew curls, and her blushing made her look all the more gorgeous. Cho stood up.

"Harry Potter, as you all are aware," Cho said, motioning toward Harry. He stood up and walked around the table to join them.

"Roger," Cho said, acknowledging her Quidditch captain.

"Cho," Roger said, smiling, "You look great,"

At this Madeline cast him a questionable look and Harry's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Why, thank you," Cho said brightly, "You enjoying the ball so far, then?"

"Too many people," Madeline said with a sneer, "So, Roger and I are going to get some folks to join us in the Common Room. We've smuggled a couple kegs of butterbeer and I'm sure with your help we can spiff it up to look like a proper party. Want to join?"

"Beats this joint," Cho said with a scoff.

* * *

Within the hour, they had set the stage for a party in the Ravenclaw Common Room. Lights were dimmed, music (to a specific preference) was generated, and Cho had cast a tricky little charm on the room to make it bigger. Five large barrels full of butterbeer were present, complete with Engorgement Charms.

In fifteen minutes, ten people had arrived—another fifteen, and the room was chock-full, music blaring. Cho had seemed to have lost Harry, but she was not complaining. Someone came along with a tray, and soon, she had downed two cups of the sweet alcohol (alcohol in the wizarding world is sweet and oh so buttery). Some rounds of Exploding Butterbeers followed (Exploding Snap with some tweaks) and then dancing and more drinks. After an hour or so of various activities, Cho was worn out and chose a chair to settle down in. The floor was occupied by some very unconscious witches and wizards. She had only had about four or five drinks—butterbeer had a much slower effect on the body than Muggle alcohol, but things were beginning to get slightly tipsy.

Soon Amita had approached her. It was the first time Cho had seen her since seven o'clock that evening (it was close to 11:30), and she was startled by the numerous bangles and ornaments that hung, reflecting off most everything (it was dark). Amita's long hair was in an incredibly intricate braid, a gold plait entwined through. A few stray hairs had escaped, and she was alone and looking impossibly sullen.

"Meeeeta," Cho crooned happily, "You're bee-yoooti-ful!"

"Hey," she said. She could tell her friend was probably the most sober individual in the room. Cho offered her a butterbeer. Amita waved it away.

"Where's Cameron?" Cho asked, taking a swig and kicking off her heels.

Amita rolled her eyes and pointed. Cameron Grant's long gangly limbs were wrapped quite tightly around someone in the far corner of the room.

"Oh," she said.

"I know. Fuck, I don't care." And she sat down beside Cho.

Not five minutes later, Roger Davies came around. He looked aimlessly around for a moment, and flopped on the ground next to Amita.

"Hey, Amita," he said thickly, "Hey Cho…why am I so tired?" He put his arm around Amita. "Pretty Amita," he said with a giggle (a masculine one).

"Come on," Roger said, getting up and pulling at Amita's arm. She got up without a word. He started to lead her to the dormitory entrance, and she followed. If Cho wasn't so crunked, she would have stopped them and she would have noticed the total look of confusion and guilt scrawled on Amita's sober face.

After they had left, Cho got up and found herself absorbed once again in a luscious cup of bubbling butterbeer. She took it and wandered to the dormitory entrance, hoping to find some company. The party was still raging with boisterous, drunken students, and Cho had no intention of hurting her already discombobulated head. She climbed the stairs carefully, and managed to push open a door. There, she was startled by a most unusual scene.

Roger and Amita stood against the bedpost (Cho wasn't completely sure who's bed it was), his arms around her waist and his face close to hers. This brought Cho slightly to her senses. Cho had expected Amita to look pleased, happy that she was getting what she had been bickering about for over a week, but she noticed her looking precisely the opposite.

Amita was obviously torn—she stood hesitantly, eyes wide, wondering what her next move was to be. Cho still remained unnoticed.

And then Amita stepped back, making Roger stumble a bit. She slapped him—hard—and turned to leave. Amita's eyes flickered over Cho, and then at something behind her. Her eyes widened further yet and Cho looked around to see what the matter was.

Madeline had been behind her the entire time, and she had not noticed (of course she was horribly impeded, but it happens). Amita opened her mouth, once, twice, and then tried to run out of the room, but Madeline stopped her.

"Madeline, I'm sorry," Amita cried, near tears.

Madeline's brow was furrowed and her face was white. She looked over at Roger, who was still standing drunkenly. He waved hello. She swept over promptly, and slapped him with more force than Amita had (which was very hard). With this, he actually fell on to the bed in a drunken stupor. Madeline looked back at Amita, her voice shaky,

"Oh, I'm sorry too, Mita!"

They embraced, cried, whatever.

Now that I've got that little problem patched up, back to the real story.

Cho confusedly left the dormitory where her two best friends had recently re-sealed their friendship. Her head still swam and her knees were wobbly. Reaching the bottom of the stair, she wandered back into the noisy Common Room. And without delay, she was intercepted.

"Cho! Where were you? I haven't been able to find you for more than an hour…whoa, are you drunk?"

Cho looked at her date with the most skeptical expression she could muster.

"No, Harry. No, I am not drunk. I tend to walk like this on a regular basis..."

"Let's get you somewhere, come on…" Cho felt herself being led.

"No really, Harry. I don't need to be patronized—" she was surprised she still kept a decent vocabulary.

"You need to be somewhere else. Anywhere but in here."

Cho couldn't respond.

She felt herself stumbling out of the Common Room, across the hallway. Soon, a crisp blast of fresh air woke her. Harry had opened a window, and was trying to gain her attention by snapping.

"Stop. Stop snapping," Cho said, waving her hand, "What's that dreadful noise?" She heard a drilling pitter-patter, and couldn't put her finger on what it was. Rain, perhaps?

"Cho, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm _fine_. Stop asking." She closed her eyes and rubbed her head.

"You're not. Sit down." She felt herself being forced onto a cold bench. He sat down beside her.

"Cho," he said, taking her hand, "I'm so sorry about what happened tonight. You were right, I overreacted,"

_Why is he telling me this?_

"I couldn't take Malfoy's shit. I just care about you so much,"

_This sounds rehearsed. Is it rehearsed? It's rehearsed. Yeah._

And before she could blink an eye, she saw one Harry coming straight at her face, groping and feeling, groping and feeling. This sobered her up much more.

"Harry!" she tore her lips away, tried to back away; she was completely sober now. His breath was free of alcohol. He persisted, and she slid herself off the bench. Harry sat startled, a look of realization, and even disgust etched into his face. He looked as if about to apologise, but she didn't care how sorry he was. She whipped around and swiftly ran away.

* * *

She was in shock and close to tears by the time she had stopped running. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Then again, how could she be? She was Cho Chang: sharp, reserved…not stupid. She had been taken advantage of, or whatever you call it…drunk, smashed, so _stupid_.

She found herself in the silence of a nearby open corridor—one right next to the courtyard. It was raining hard.

She was sober. Completely.

She made her way to the end of the walk-way where the columns stopped and a lone washroom stood to her right. She walked in and washed her hands, looked in the mirror. Her makeup hadn't been ruined, for she had used a special brand of "Anna's WonderFinish" that evening (it really did wonders). In fact she still looked decent, despite the atrocious emotional state she was in. She straightened her gown and walked back out.

And ran head-first into the chest of an incomer.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled. And then she saw who it was and she blinked three times. Draco Malfoy stood before her once again. How many times had this happened?

"Chang!" Malfoy seemed just as surprised as herself, "What are you doing?"

"Taking a piss, what does it look like? What are you doing?"

"Boys' lavatory, Chang." He smirked. But the smirk was a little off. His dress robes had been discarded, and his tie was undone, shirt sleeves rolled up sloppily. His hair was even more unruly than the last time she had seen it.

"Hm," she said nonchalantly.

"So that party's really something—even if it is Ravenclaw," he said, letting her through the doorway. Apparently he had chosen not to go to the loo after all, "Why aren't you attending?"

"I was. Got crunked and came here to not make a fool out of myself."

"Likewise,"

Cho braced herself for another snide remark. But it didn't come.

"You're not surprised?" she asked.

"Surprised?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"I expected you to say something about my drinking. Most people do. That's what you do, Malfoy—you throw these things back in people's faces."

Malfoy scratched his head.

"Not surprised, Chang. Prefects have their fun." He said this so casually. The wind was picking up outside. The wind now howled through the exposed corridor.

"I'll walk you back," he sounded passive—a passive Draco Malfoy? Unheard of! They started their way through the wind, the pouring rain not able to reach them.

Cho had been holding a shawl, but the wind caught it from her loose grip and sent it flying out into the courtyard.

"Bloody brilliant," she said.

""Use a Summoning Charm," Malfoy suggested.

"Don't have my wand," (How are you supposed to carry around a wand when you're wearing a ball gown?)

Malfoy pulled out his own wand and tried once. No result. Again, and still nothing.

"I can't locate it through this blasted rain," he said, squinting, and attempting once more.

"Shit," Cho said, "Well, don't worry about it. Just leave it." She really didn't care about it anyway.

"No," he said after some consideration, "We're getting the damned thing." And with that, he walked through the columns and into the heavy rainfall.

Cho stood bemused for a short moment. He'd gone out in that awful downpour to get her shawl. She really didn't understand him. She waited for another two minutes, and he was still not back. The rain was not getting any lighter.

And then, she didn't know what possessed her to do it, but she stepped into the rain.

The droplets hit hard and evenly. She felt it drip down her back and ruin her ball gown. She looked around the courtyard for a sign of her shawl—and Malfoy—but couldn't see a clear foot in front of her. She stumbled over a table, a few bushes.

"Malfoy!" she called, "Where are you off to?" She shook water out of her eyes.

"Over here!" came his response, "You came out here? Jesus, woman,"

"_Where_ is _here_?" She meandered some to the right.

"Between…the fountain and the edge of the courtyard."

Cho slowly made her way through the haze, with only the light from the lavatory to guide, and soon enough she saw the sopping wet figure of Malfoy. He stood, holding her drenched and sufficiently ruined shawl. She approached him and gently took it from his grip.

"Thanks," she said, "You really didn't have to,"

The rain was becoming softer, still a downpour, but things were clearer. The velvety patter off the stone courtyard was the only thing Cho was listening to, and the light from the washroom corridor washed over softly. Her mind was blurred and incoherent. Why was Malfoy looking at her that way? He was so close—too close. But she didn't move.

"Oh, but every day I subject myself to the pouring rain."

Malfoy had developed a certain softness in his expression—something Cho had never seen in anyone, least of all in Malfoy. It was endearing, stunning, and above all, utterly and genuinely kind.

"And I'm just your average run-of-the-mill damsel in distress?"

The rain dripped off her chin.

"Absolutely not." And he kissed her.


	13. Ch 11: Small Places

_Ch. 11: Small Places_

And so he had kissed her. Quite impressively, if I may add. Trite, yes, but very fun to read, nonetheless.

For it was in the pouring rain, and who can resist?

A picture of perfect lusting. And it was not sinful in the least bit.

I would say it was an experience worthy of a century in time, but things really don't happen that way.

But it was ever so romantic.

In fact, Cho was so taken-aback that she nearly choked (and it was good she didn't), for here was the absolute epitome of her loathing. Kissing her. _Kissing her._

But she had to admit, he was awfully good at it. He held her face ever so gently, softly pulled her toward his sopping body (yes, he was sopping).

And the kiss. Oh, the kiss. It was amazing.

For a while, she simply could not place what she felt. In all her life, she never thought one could experience a feeling that left you threatened, inarticulate, enraged, and completely infatuated all at the same time. But this was exactly that. Staring her directly in the face. Or mouth, however you like it.

It was an expression of such lightness, such tenderness. But it was so overpowered by this incredible muted, nearly animalistic sense of longing and desire.

Of course, Cho had no time to reflect upon it in such a way as this, but I'm sure she thought about it later.

To be precise (and entirely realistic), it lasted approximately 38 seconds, 23 milliseconds. 4 microseconds. No fireworks, no stars, no shift in heavenly grounds.

All real.

* * *

_And then they were in a room. Cho was really quite caught up in the moment, but she noticed the blue drapes on the four poster. A Ravenclaw dormitory. She could still hear the party raging downstairs. Why still Ravenclaw Tower? Malfoy was the one who had Apparated the both of them. But oh well._

With some effort, Cho managed to let her drenched hair fall freely without disrupting any of her actions.

They worked their way onto the bed, and soon, Cho had Malfoy's shirt unbuttoned (his chest was smooth and slim and only slightly defined).

Was this a horrible thing to do? Probably. She really didn't care.

His hair, now damp hung wavy and dark, grazed her face. She was sitting back, with her arms propped up behind her; Malfoy leaning over her, with his hands on either side, kissing beautifully.

And with one swift motion, Cho was out of her very heavy, very wet (and very ruined) ball gown. She (definitely) hadn't anticipated anything like this would happen, but she still had on some very lacy undergarments.

There was a moment between Malfoy's stares and when he pushed her back onto the sheets that Cho had a fierce twinge of regret. But it quickly went away.

He kissed her and kissed her and kissed away, down her neck, down her stomach (and then some), and then, just as things were getting a bit heated...Malfoy jumped up screaming.

"AHH! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!"

Cho sat, up, blinked several times before the situation registered entirely. Malfoy had a large, brown barn owl flapping and fluttering (and making a complete ruckus) at his head.

"BLOODY HELL, GET IT _OFF_!"

So Cho, with the best judgment that she could muster at the moment, seized Malfoy's wand and stunned the bugger. It fell to the floor with a squawk.

Malfoy stood, flustered, with his tie hanging down his bare chest, hands in his hair. His face was frozen in an expression of embarrassment and shock for a moment, but he quickly regained the look of a nondescript "what?"

He took his hands from his hair, leaving tufts sticking up every which way. He looked down at the stunned owl, and let out a low whistle.

"Bloody thing," he said, bending down and picking it up. He paused, took a piece of parchment from its leg. "Went for my hair, it did. Reckon why?"

"You have shiny, luscious locks, dear," Cho said with a smile.

"Don't be so cheeky, Chang," Malfoy said, breaking the wax seal. He read aloud:

"_To the Prefects of All Houses: Please report to duties._

_Keep all students under control. Do not ignore this, we will know._

_Headmistress, Professor M. McGonagall_

"Hm. A threat, that is." Cho said.

"Yeah," Malfoy looked at the window from where the owl had flown and scratched the back of his head, "How do they always know where we are?"

Cho got up, started for the door.

"Sorry, Malfoy," she said, "I'll see you around,"

Back in the confines of her dormitory, she was relieved that she hadn't gone through with it. She knew that if she had, she would have argued with herself for weeks, felt regret, yes yes, the whole shebang.

She pulled on a pair of jeans and the first blouse she came across, marched down to the Common Room to report to duties. Duties, she assumed, would mean breaking up her own party. She sighed, but she knew she had to.

However, when she was back among the mass of buzzing-drunkenness, she decided that there were far too many people, and that it was too late to go and chase everyone out.

So instead, she found Amita and Madeline (they were both Prefects), and told them her intentions. The three of them set off, making the Butterbeer kegs disappear, and clearing out the people who were sufficiently passed out. That took approximately twenty minutes, but that twenty minutes had Cho exhausted. She located a couch, and without missing a beat, curled up and was out in a hair.

* * *

_The next morning was Sunday. The rain was pouring, the air was cold, and the Ravenclaw Common Room was in a quite dastardly state. Cho woke to the sounds of people stepping on filth. Ew._

She opened her eyes, smacked her lips. Stretched, and looked out the window. The clouds were thick and grey.

Glancing at the clock, she calculated that she had been asleep for four hours—it was nine o'clock. She got up slowly, realized she had a splitting headache, and groaned, lay back down. Stumbling upstairs, she dragged herself into the shower and stayed there for forty minutes. Madeline was knocking persistently on the door before she even considered stepping out.

"We have a hell of a mess to clean," Madeline said once Cho was out in a towel.

"I know, I woke up to it,"

"Well, get dressed and we can start," She paused, and there was a hint of a smile etched onto her face, "Oh, and another thing, Amita's still asleep. And she's not alone, mind you."

"Ooh!" Cho said, too hung-over to think of something to say, but very excited nonetheless.

"She's in the room next door. Wake her up while you're at it—she needs to help clean, even if she didn't help set up."

"Who is she with?"

"Go see! And wake her up,"

"I don't want to wake her up. You do it,"

"I was awake before you,"

"All the more reason for you—"

They were cut short (what a shame) when the door opened to reveal Amita. Very frazzled indeed.

"Hi, guys," was all she could manage.

"Amita, dear, we know you've had a rough night, but please get dressed and help us with cleaning the Common Room," Madeline said, every bit of her Madeline-ness expressing itself (muah, I do love thee, Margio).

"But I didn't even set up, why—"

"Amita, you best listen to her. I dare say, she'll short several nerve endings if you don't do what she says," Cho said this with the most genuine of smirks traced upon her face.

"Yes, listen to her, Mita. She knows what she's talking about," Madeline said, while scrounging for a pair of clean socks.

"So I take it you two are back on the friendly side of things?"

"Not if she doesn't help us," Madeline said, poking her head up from behind the bed, "I swear McGonagall will have our heads if she sees what we did…"

How wonderful.

Cho remembered what she was originally going to say, but was pushed out of the room by Madeline before she had the chance.

So Cho, Madeline, and Amita started their morning cleaning the Common Room (there had been significant wreckage done to several windows and there was _so_ much rubbish on the floor). It was their doing, after all.

_(A/N: I know this whole cleaning business seems a bit stupid and unnecessary, but just try and believe that it was intended to be a most casual and convenient type of…segue, if you will. Really, I would think there is a point to it. I guess I tend to want to be 'startlingly realistic.')_

Amita began with clearing the floor, but in the end, she decided that spraying Madeline with a heap-load of grime and trash would do everyone good. Cho stood idly, making portraits and windows go back into place with a flick of wand. She had that glazed look you get when you have no intention of paying any attention at all to your surroundings. She was thinking of the previous night. Usually, she would be dying to tell someone by now, but she found herself rather unwilling. What had exactly possessed her to go on with that? Wasn't that exactly what Malfoy wanted? And how could she fall for it—was she really that stupid? But the question was…did she fall into a trap, or walk through a wall? After all, wasn't she the one moping around all that time because she was wasn't getting any action? And who was Amita with that night? But that is beside the point. She couldn't make up her mind. She still thought Malfoy was a complete ass. But for some reason, she couldn't help thinking of what _his_ real intentions had been. The kissing was really absolutely fabulous…

But, alas, Cho's business was once again cut short.

Not by a bird, though.

Which is good.

"Cho,"

"Hm…?"

"Cho…"

"Hmmph…?"

"CHO!"

"What?" Cho came out from her daze (something that happened often), and realized she had been maneuvering the same portrait for the past three minutes. "What? What do you want?"

"Oh dear, Cho, you are so out of it. That Potter boy is here again. Thought you'd want to know," Madeline looked peeved.

Cho came out of her daze, and a stone dropped in her stomach—in dread. _Dammit, why now?_

Harry stood, looking very uncertain of himself. He was blinking too—Cho noticed his glasses were gone.

"Cho," he started, not really looking directly at her (that's what happens when you're cursed with bad eye-sight…and a price on your head involving the greatest Dark Wizard of all time), "I came here to apologize,"

Of course.

Cho resorted to looking at him skeptically, waited for him to continue.

"Uh…yeah,"

Oh, Christ.

"I was a bit tipsy, and last night was not a good night for me…Malfoy, you know?"

Oh-ho, you _don't_ know.

"But…yeah. I really hope you're alright. And, Cho I really do care about you, so I understand if you still hate me…"

"Harry, I don't hate you. Just use better judgment next time,"

Harry raised an eyebrow. Cho could tell he was thinking, _a next time, eh?_

"And that is in the _most_ hypothetical sense."

His face fell.

"Well…okay. I'll see you around then, I guess," He turned to leave. Cho felt bad. She didn't know why, but she did. Sadly.

"Harry," He turned back around, "Friends?"

"Yeah," he said, "Friends," And left. Pshaw. The last time she'd said that, he was considerably more enthusiastic. The boy learned.

"Oh, thank _God_." Cho said when she joined Amita and Madeline, "I thought he'd never leave,"

"You should be nicer," Madeline said, "He is Harry Potter, after all. You should go easy on him. What did he do to you?"

"I'd rather not talk about it. And I was as nice as I could be without coming off too friendly,"

"Please, tell us!" Amita said, looking as anxious as she could.

"Yes, yes, tell us, Chang,"

Cho sighed. There was no getting out of it. It was just so embarrassing.

She told them. About Harry. Oh, there was no way they would find out about a certain blonde Slytherin.

* * *

_By twelve-thirty that afternoon, the job was finished and the trio trooped back to their dormitory to freshen up._

"Amita, darling…whoever were you with last night?" Cho sprang the question when she least expected it. Hehe.

"What?" Amita said, taking her head out from behind her bed curtains.

"Who, Miss Amita?"

"Oh. That," she said quite strangely, "I'm not sure,"

"You're not _sure_? How can you not be _sure_?"

_(A/N: Let's not peruse so much. You'll find out in good time? The point is, Amita does not want to tell. Bashful, she is. Now, where were we…)_

Madeline proposed the brilliant idea of going to Hogsmeade that afternoon.

"Well, you know," she stated thoughtfully, "We ought to enjoy a little break from all of this." Even if they really hadn't done a scrap of work for the past couple of weeks. So they dressed in sweaters and brought their umbrellas (I'm sure they have them in the Wizarding World) and were on their merry way in good time.

The rain would not cease. It shattered off the rooftops, left the ground flooded and the sky howling. It had been raining for nearly three days straight. The three took refuge in a small jazz café called Misty's, one of Cho's favorite places in Hogsmeade.

It was dark, sleek, and (misty), small tables set with small lamps and a small coffee bar to the side. Up front was a small stage, lit with small candles and small dim colored lights. Overall, (and in case you didn't quite understand), it was a very small place.

They sat down and ordered three cups of steaming chai, and were in heated discussion before several very peculiar events interrupted.

They were just about to get up for another order of drinks when a tapping was heard on the window to their right. When they ignored it, it grew louder, and when they finally were annoyed enough to notice it and turn around, Amita's mouth dropped.

"Oh shit," Amita muttered, for there stood Seamus Finnigan, the 'charming' Irish Gryffindor that had so bothered Harry last night at the ball. But Cho had nothing to fret about now—it was clear. Amita, with her open jaw, furrowed brow, and developing blush, had been with the person who was now knocking and winking suggestively.

"Who is that?" Madeline asked, looking at Seamus inquisitively. Apparently, Madeline did not know who Amita had spent the night with after all—only known there _was_ someone.

"That," Cho said with triumph, "Is Seamus Finnigan," She laughed. With that, Seamus entered the café and walked over to their table. Cho was smirking at Amita (who looked mortified), but not for long.

"Hello, ladies," was all that Cho heard Seamus say, for about fifteen seconds after he had walked in, Draco Malfoy entered the premises, soaking wet from the rain and accompanied by a tall seventh-year Cho knew by the name of Blaise Zabini. Malfoy's eyes locked quickly on Cho, but he seemed indifferent, for soon after, he turned swiftly and made his way to the coffee bar.

Conversation with Seamus was now just a distant prattling.

She didn't know what compelled her to, but Cho excused herself and started toward the coffee bar. She located Malfoy's long, lanky form, hands in his pockets, scanning the menu above the counter. Blaise was somewhat off standing to his right.

Making sure she was out of the sight of Amita and Madeline (she didn't think they would have noticed anyway—they were in quite a conversation), she walked over.

"Well, look who the wind blew in," Cho said, just loud enough to be heard over what the band was playing. Malfoy turned around, unfazed.

"Hello, Chang," he said, not really looking at her.

"I'd just like to apologize for last night. You know how things go...owls included,"

"No problem,"

He was being rather dismissive.

"So…did you have a good time, then?"

"Yes, I guess you could say that. A tall, please. Black," he said, ordering. Cho opened her mouth to bid goodbye, but Malfoy beat her to it.

"Now, if you'll excuse us," and he walked off with Blaise Zabini. Cho didn't know quite what to think. She went back to her table, sat down, and looked like she was acknowledging the conversation. He had been so detached, and he usually wasn't. Cho was extremely jarred. She told herself (as she had so many times) that Draco Malfoy was not something she would ever consider taking interest in. No farther than a little fooling around, it seemed, but nonetheless, no one to trifle with. If he was not interested, she wouldn't care. And she didn't. But she had to ask herself: why did her head feel like it had just burst open?

Really.

She didn't know.

* * *

_I know, quite an unproductive chapter. But then again, you can't go off having Cho/Draco sex every chapter now? I'll update now that school's out (weeee). Review!_

_I should have touched upon this a long while ago, but I guess I'm just really lazy. Thank you, Serena Goodkey, B.C Company, Iris C., artificial-sprite, Chele, Cho-Wood, H0n3yduk3s sweetie, Mystikalmagic, .AwwLukTheSkyIsCryin…._

_…and of course, two of my most avid and wonderful reviewers who happen to be two of the best friends anyone could have…Tu lo sai inc., and Lovah of Ron. You make me smile. Kind of._

_I must have missed a bunch of you. But I'm mightily obliged even so._

_Now, type type type! Reviews!_

_liannimation_


	14. Ch 12: Saintly Endeavors

_Ch. 12: Saintly Endeavors_

It was five o'clock by the time they first considered leaving the café. Seven o'clock by the time they checked the clock again. By then, it was startlingly apparent that Seamus really liked Amita. Possibly more so than Amita liked him back, but it was depressingly sweet. And Cho had been nodding along the whole time, taking part at the appropriate times. No doubt, she was happy for Amita, but she couldn't get that image of Malfoy out of her head. The back part of him, actually. Because that was the last she saw of him—his back: turned on her. Like she'd never happened. Don't get me wrong, though. He did have a rather nice backside, if that was what you were thinking.

She was in massive denial. He was _nothing_ to think about. She was going to sit and enjoy this conversation. But that was simply impossible.

Seamus and Amita were sickening. Seamus would laugh at everything Amita said, look at her when she was turning the opposite direction. Christ, he would even blusteringly offer to pay for her coffee. And the thing was, she was somewhat oblivious. That really irked Cho—here was this charming, adorable guy _throwing_ himself at her. He was a perfect potential for the happiest of relationships. Amita looked flattered, but didn't seem all too appreciative. Damn her.

When quarter to nine rolled around, Cho was tired. She stood up, stretched.

"What do you think, guys? Time to head back to the castle, I think,"

"Oh, but we we're only getting started," Seamus joked. Cho secretly shot him a dirty look.

"Yeah," Amita said, "It's getting late. Some of these folks seem a tad sketchy if you ask me," she eyed some of the people scattered and hunched in the corners of the café. She stood.

The four of them made their way out of Misty's, which now smelled of day-old coffee grindings and piss. What a way to finish the day.

The smell of rain lingered potently in the night air. It had stopped no more than two hours ago. Amita and Seamus were walking slowly together, Cho and Madeline behind them, left to trek through the mud in silence. They seemed at such ease, and it just aggravated Cho further.

"They are so cute," Madeline said to Cho.

"I know," Cho said in a whisper, so as to mask the restraint in her voice, "It's unbearable, innit?"

"Yeah," she said, "So is there or is there not something between you and Harry?"

Cho thought this was possibly the most random and incorrect question she'd ever heard uttered from Madeline's mouth. Honestly, she did not see how it could have happened.

"No!" Cho said, a little too loudly, for Amita cast them a "what the hell?" kind of look. She continued quietly, "Why _ever_ would you ask? No, there's nothing. Oh-ho, absolutely nothing." She almost chuckled.

"Well, I was just wondering because well…isn't it obvious?"

"What? What's obvious?" Cho was edgy. And tired. A dangerous concoction.

"You two _have_ had a history. And then you went to the ball with him. Okay, he sort of screwed that over, but from what I can tell, he _was_ drunk and he apologized for it, didn't he? And Cho, he just seems…_perfect_ for you, you know?" Oooh…she was mad now, "I mean, he's good-looking, popular, _famous—_and we all know you love that sort of thing—he's really quite the person for you. It's only natural that you two would be an item,"

Cho rubbed her eyes in muted frustration (poking her eyes quite a bit in the process). If even her best friend anticipated how she was expected to be viewed, then what of the rest of the world? Was she really _that_ predictable?

"Interesting," was all Cho could say.

The walk back was silent from there, save the happy giggles of Amita, and the elevating ringing sound that was developing in Cho's ears.

* * *

Was she honestly falling back into this again? Shame, she had just recovered from it too. And she knew she shouldn't have been feeling this way; that was the worst bit. She couldn't concentrate fully, snapped at every person who confronted her—damn she could have been PMS-ing for all she knew. But that wasn't it. The gist of it was that she was lonely and unattainable. Green all over again.

And it didn't help when the four reached the castle, and Seamus dragged Amita off to the Room of Requirement, a sure smirk playing on both their lips.

"You want to head back to the Common Room, then?" Madeline inquired.

"Uh," Cho said, while her eyes followed her friend and her smitten Irish boy, "Yeah. Let's go."

Back in the comfort of their dormitory, Cho became decidedly horrible. Madeline asked her if she wanted to shower first, and all Cho had to say was, "What do you _think_?" And when Madeline headed for the bathroom, obviously misreading the situation, Cho let out a disgruntled sigh of frustration and nearly popped an eyeball vein (cos' that's what people do when they're angry). She sat restlessly on her bed, scribbling furiously at her homework, trying as hard as she could to avoid thinking of…the state of affairs at hand. When Madeline stepped out of the bathroom, Cho was so startled that she knocked over her inkwell.

"DAMMIT!" she screamed too loudly.

"Cho…" Madeline said, grabbing her wand and cleaning the mess.

"Thanks," Cho mumbled incoherently, a cross frown fixed on her face.

"Are you quite alright?" Madeline asked warily.

"Yes,"

"Well, you seem edgy if you ask me."

"I'm not edgy,"

"Yes you are,"

Cho was really too tired and upset to say anything useful, so instead she just ended the conversation with a resounding, "No," and was off to the shower.

In bed a half an hour later, Cho was truly in a pickle. Jealous. How could she be? And again? It was preposterous to think about. She shut her eyes. A couple weeks ago, she was feeling prude, stupid, bemused. She wanted, to put it plainly, some action. And quickly. Along came Draco Malfoy—beautiful, utterly witty, utterly willing, utterly dispensable.

Her friends: love-struck and genuine. Herself: still stupid, still bemused, and surprisingly still prudish. She wasn't jealous. She was disgusted.

She didn't even want to think about Malfoy. In fact, she didn't know what to think anymore. She thought that maybe he could have been there for some fun when she needed it, but apparently, she wasn't even good enough for that judging from what happened at the café that evening. She stewed in her misery for another three hours until she finally succumbed to sleep.

Little did she know that at that precise moment, Draco Malfoy was lying in bed, mind flying, his focus on a one Asian Ravenclaw.

* * *

It was a half-heartedly uttered moan/whine sort of thing. That was what Cho did mostly the following morning at breakfast. Oh yes, she was disheartened and completely bad-tempered, and even wound up barking alarming obscenities at a couple of awe-stricken first-years. So much for Head Girl behavior. Premium fun though, if you happen to not be in her position.

Cho sat at the table, pushing at her eggs sulkily while Amita chattered naughtily about her escapade the previous evening.

"…the RoR, right?" she seemed to be saying, "Seamus had this wonderful setup for us—you girls should have seen it! All bedecked in little lights and fancy curtains, and there was a lovely, beautiful bed in the middle of the room. Oh, and it was just all so bloody…" she paused, smirked uneasily, "_Huge_…"

Madeline laughed at the comment, squealed something. Cho acknowledged it with a slight nod and a forced smile. Jesus, this was just too much for her. She speared a lob of egg, regarded it grudgingly before she put it in her mouth.

"Oy, Lahiri, babe!" Cho choked violently at this. Seamus bounded over from the Gryffindor table (Cho could have sworn she caught sight of Harry stealing a glance), and sat himself next to Amita. However, Harry was possibly the last thing on her mind. Now pink in the face from a lack of oxygen, she weakly pounded at her chest with her fist, and coughed like a cretin.

"Woah, Cho," Seamus said, turning to stare at her while she hacked up half the world, "You quite alright?"

"Yes—" _cough_ "I'm just—" _cough _"peachy," She cast him a sarcastic look through watering eyes. "How're you?"

"Couldn't be better," he smiled sneakily, turned his attention back to Amita and initiated one of those gross premarital inter-digitation type things.

"Please, guys," Madeline protested, shielding her eyes, "We're eating and everyone is staring," It was true: everyone _was_ staring. Cho was glad Madeline brought it up, for she was sure that if she had, it would have come out sounding a fair amount more catty-like.

And then, (she was sure by then that God was plotting adamantly against her) lo and behold, Roger Davies swooped down upon them, squeezing himself next to Madeline, arm on her back. It was a vision: Cho's two best friends were both sitting on one side of the table, dreamy-eyed and smitten, fondling, smiling, batting eyelashes and whatnot. Sitting on the other side was Cho, food half-way to her mouth, a very unhealthy and panicked expression cemented onto her face.

"Cho,"

She continued to look mortified.

"You alright? You look awfully peaky,"

Cho squinted her eyes, attempted a sickening little smile.

"Um, I've got to go. Study. I'll see you guys in…Herbology?"

She got up to leave. She felt dreadful. Really—physically dreadful. She made it half-way to the door when a handsome grey owl caught her attention. It perched itself on a nearby column, and looked at her keenly. Cho located the scroll attached to its leg, and hurried over to retrieve it. This is what is said and what it is that it is, goes as follows:

_Cho,_

_You haven't paid for your ball dress yet. You know we have already discussed this issue. Buying a completely new dress just for a silly school dance is not a necessity. Right now you owe 20 galleons and 9 sickles._

_Your father and I have just received your latest grade report. Pretty good, but we think that you could do better in Potions. As soon as possible, send back the money for the dress, or I can withdrawal it from your account at Gringotts._

_Mom and Dad_

By the time Cho had finished reading, her fists were white from clutching the paper so hard, and her head was throbbing because her teeth were clenched so tightly. Aware that there were still people around her, she resisted the temptation of a full-throttle temper tantrum, and instead, seized a quill from her bag and wrote a hasty reply.

Sending the owl off, she marched out of the Great Hall and fumed quietly (if that is possible). Now, even the little everyday annoyances were bringing the worst out in her.

* * *

The sun had set, the rain was still pouring thick and fast, and Cho sat miserably in the Common Room. Amita and Seamus, Madeline and Roger were all there together again. Don't get me wrong, Cho had tried with much effort to escape the premises, but things that day just happened to want to prevent her from not missing a single precious moment of agony: no Prefect duties to attend to, a beast of a Herbology essay to write, and of course the feelings of her friends to preserve (how would it look that every time they were around each other, she would leave?)

She had nothing better to do but sigh and stroke the cat that was so inconveniently in her lap.

The silence was golden for Cho, so when Roger broke it, she made a rain-check to hex him the next time they were alone.

"Cho…excuse me for asking, but," …_you're never excused, Davies, mark my words… "_I feel we're making you uncomfortable," …_you really think so? Well, how thoughtful…_ "And I was just wondering if maybe Potter would join us?" …_WHAT!... _"Maybe it would make it less awkward, I mean, I know that you two have something, right…?"

Judging from the look on Roger's face, Cho must have looked startlingly frightening. She stood up.

"Davies," Cho said, completely irate, "Fuck," (Madeline gasped), "You." And she stomped off.

* * *

Alright, so she had over-reacted in the slightest bit. But who can really fight against teenage angst, mm? It was the climax of a particularly dreadful day, and Roger just so happened to off-set the very frustrated, very angry monster that had been nesting in her. Poor Roger.

She was wandering the deserted halls, recklessly, if I may add, for it was nearly one o'clock in the morning. Though her rage had receded a bit, it now had transformed into a sort of mottled form of guilt. Further, and more than ever, she felt incredibly and, (please excuse the crudeness), overwhelmingly horny.

And now the tide was changing ever so slightly for Cho, for while she loped around the grounds in desperate want of a shag, she ran straight into what seemed like, well…air.

But air didn't curse, or fall to the ground with a grunt.

Voila!

Harry Potter was thus half-revealed on the floor of the stone corridor, struggling to get back on his feet and clutching what looked suspiciously like an Invisibility Cloak.

"Cho!" he sputtered, "I really didn't see you!" And she guessed he really hadn't, for he seemed genuinely astonished when she seized him by the front of his robes and pulled him into a fiery kiss.

After a little while, Harry seemed to relax, and moved his hands gently around her back, deepening the kiss. Cho noted that he had improved quite bit since their last endeavor—he was positively superb!—but there was something definitely missing about it that she couldn't quite lay her finger on…

"Care to take it somewhere else, folks?" The signature drawl cut through the moment like ice. Cho looked around, still wrapped in Harry's arms.

"Chang, I'm shocked." Malfoy mocked with a fake expression of alarm.

Harry looked cross, but he couldn't hide his evident look of complete smugness.

"And Potter," he said, shifting his eyes onto Harry and giving a smirk, "I'm even more shocked,"

The snide offense seemed to bring Harry back to his senses.

"And what are you doing, Malfoy? Prowling the night, hoping to catch a glance of something you never get?"

Malfoy's face remained unchanged.

"Hardly," he said, eyebrow raised, making it clear not to look at Cho, "Prefect duties, Potter."

"Oh," Harry said quietly, realizing how stupid he must have sounded. Cho felt a little pang of pity, but quickly berated herself for it.

"Well," Malfoy said with an obnoxious air of authority. He made a motion to leave, "Chang," he nodded politely. Watching him stride off, Cho was surprised that Malfoy had not at least taken House points away. But soon enough, that surprise was remedied when he turned swiftly back around and called,

"Oh, I almost forgot, twenty points from Gryffindor for a most unsightly display of affection,"

Harry's eyes narrowed in annoyance, but he soon turned back to face Cho. Taking her hand, he kissed her lightly and began pulling her toward the Room of Requirement (they happened to be on the seventh floor).

Then they were in front of the door, and as Cho watched Harry pace three times in front of it, she was overwrought by the most gut-wrenching feeling…ever. While half of her (the bottom part, more accurately) screamed an angry protest, she blurted it out anyway.

"Harry, I can't do this. Not right now,"

Harry halted mid-stride, gawked at her unbelievingly.

"You've got to be kidding,"

Cho issued an apologetic look.

"No, you can't do this to me, you've _got_ to be kidding," His expression was completely readable, for it was the same look that the bottom part of Cho might've been giving at the moment (imagine that).

"Sorry, Harry," (She really was), "I'll see you later," and she hurried off.

* * *

So she was a bit of a tease. So what. It wasn't like she meant to be.

She scanned the dark corridor for any other intruders as she made her way slowly back to Ravenclaw Tower. As she approached a particularly long passage, she noticed a light up in the distance—no doubt it was a Lumos enchantment suspended over someone's wand.

_Oh dear, it's Malfoy, isn't it._

She really didn't feel like enduring another tirade of abuse,however she was too tired to retreat and find another route to her destination, so she plowed on down through the dark stretch.

And sure enough, as she neared the light, Malfoy came into view, his form delicately silhouetted to reveal that he was leaning against the wall, looking at the painting opposite. When he saw her coming he straightened himself.

"Chang," he said, his voice echoing off the stone, "And I half-expected you to still be snogging Potter's saintly face off,"

Cho flashed the nastiest sneer she could muster.

"What? Is that spite that I detect in your tone? Surely not."

Malfoy seemed to think the question not worthy to answer.

"Funny," he said airily looking back at the painting he had been staring at, "I didn't think you two actually were up to things,"

Cho was dumbfounded—this had to be the first person to tell her that she and Harry Potter were not meant to be.

"Malfoy, you never cease to amaze," she kept her tone cold. Malfoy was an ass. She had to remind herself over and over. However, what kept popping up in her mind _was_ in fact, Malfoy's arse. Even if she hadn't quite seen it.

"What? Surely it doesn't come as a surprise. You know Potter is a pussy," he paused, "You two are shagging, I presume?" He said this so casually that Cho almost forgot to act outraged. She managed a stupid little sputtering session.

_And I'm a Ravenclaw, honestly_.

"Then I take it you're an item? Fancy that…Cho Chang and the legendary Saint _Potter_," he spat the word, 'Potter'.

Cho sensed Malfoy's vulnerability in a flash (_ahh, so there's the Ravenclaw kicking in)_ and struggled to salvage her wit (or what remained of it at this hour).

"Why are you asking so many questions?" she snapped plainly. Malfoy looked at her curiously. "Hah, if I wasn't so delirious, I'd have thought you were jealous." The last words rang.

Cho stood there, a defiant leer playing on her lips. She looked at him, full-expecting a clever or cruel (or both) retort to be sent back her way.

But Malfoy merely remained standing, slightly stooped, hands in his pockets. His eyes flicked briefly over her face before he said quietly,

"Best be off. Goodnight," he turned on the spot, leaving Cho more confused than ever.

_What a peculiar boy._


	15. Ch 13: Turns

_This chapter is from Draco's POV. Just this one, because it's always nice to know what the other characters are up to in their minds. Enjoy!_

* * *

_Ch. 13: Turns_

He sat on a Thursday evening, his DADA paper spread before him. There was an annoyed look scrawled across his face, and his hair so commonly groomed and oiled, stuck out questionably and fell at his brow.

Every few minutes, he would cease in his scribbling, dip his quill into the inkwell and look hesitant about placing the tip back onto the parchment.

He is an example of a boy in question.

"Oy, Zabini,"

"Mm-hm?"

"How's your paper going?"

"Alright, why do you ask?"

"Any chance I could copy it?"

Blaise Zabini was a tall striking boy. Usually that adjective is not used to describe those of male orientation, but that was what he was. He was striking.

"You know I can't let you do that, mate." It was a practiced statement.

"Well, then tell me what the fuck grindylows are good for," the other muttered/spat, dropping his quill and rubbing his face disdainfully.

"Page two-seventy. Second and third paragraphs,"

The sound of ruffling pages and mild cursing was heard. Blaise looked at the other curiously. The two had been sharing a dorm for the previous two years, both Prefects, but he had never seen his roommate looking so, for lack of a better word, peaky. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't such a drastic change—his disheveled hair could be construed merely as a new look, his trademark sneer was intact as ever, and his obnoxious swagger had only lost a fraction of its oomph. But nonetheless, the boy was not himself.

Blaise couldn't see what could so dishearten the high-strung son-of-a-bitch. He was Head Boy. A bloody wanker, but his wit was a pure reflection of Slytherin himself. Quick as a whip. The boy could get away with murder. And the girls adored him. He was quite thin and lanky, even a tad effeminate, but he had unabashedly charmed the knickers off of half the girls at Hogwarts. He was mad wealthy, a deity to any First-Year, and fortunately, quite well-hung. How Blaise knew this detail, I shall not share.

But the poor bloke sat hunched against the rain-splattered window, jabbing at his parchment and blinking his eyes which were heavy with dark.

_I wonder when the last time he's slept was._ Blaise thought. He looked awfully deprived. Glancing up from his essay, he caught Blaise regarding him

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Blaise replied, trying to sound bored, and turning his attention back to his own paper.

_I suppose even the best eat shit, _he thought.

In short, the truth. Even with all that arrogance, all that talent, and intelligence, and money, Draco Malfoy ate shit.

* * *

Harry fucking Potter. Malfoy's tired eyes narrowed as he watched his sworn enemy walk over to the Ravenclaw table and snake his dirty, measly arm around Cho Chang.

He had been quite a wreck the past month or two. The result, undoubtedly, of the far-too-frequent all-nighters he was forced to pull due to his Head Boy duties, then the drop in his grades, his poor Quidditch performance, the owls received from his worried mother. Oh, and his father just so happened to have been convicted of being a Death Eater and was presently in Azkaban. Which brings us back to Harry fucking Potter.

The flaming cretin smiled playfully, pecked Cho on the cheek. Apparently they had been together since the public display of affection that was exhibited for Malfoy to witness mistakenly not two nights ago. Really, Cho Chang was lovely, but he had never in his life intended to observe Potter snogging. Anyone. Ever.

And the worst of it was that he was jealous of him. He didn't dare show it, but Draco Malfoy had always envied Harry Potter.

The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. Potter and his stupid glorified name. And his stupid courage and stupid Quidditch skills, and his goddamn 'love'. Who the hell cares if the damn guy could love? Big deal.

He did nothing, and everyone idolized the prat. Like he was a fucking saint or something. Malfoy scowled. He scowled a lot. Harry Potter was not a saint. Sure, he walked the walk, talked the talk but man, was he an asshole. But you should have seen the green in Malfoy that morning, bright and thick, as he watched Potter and Chang. Chang and Potter.

_What a horrible match._

* * *

_Malfoy sat in Charms, completely whipped from the previous night. The essay on Grindylows, which had demanded a minimum of fifteen feet of parchment, had kept him up the entirety of yet another night._

_Why did they make me Head Boy?_ he wondered. At this rate he really thought he was on his deathbed.

It was a double period with the Gryffindors, and with the noise they were generating, Malfoy couldn't get a moment of peace to lay his head on the desk.

An unpleasantly familiar voice bellowed in his ear.

"Hey, Ferret Face!"

Malfoy lazily turned around, a practiced look of boredom vivid in his features.

"Keep your chin up, Ferret Face. You don't want to fall asleep!"

Ronald Weasley belted this as if it were the most hysterical thing of all time. Malfoy instantly wondered why he was yelling if he was sitting no more than three feet away from his own desk. Harry fucking Potter sat next to Ron, laughing his ass off into oblivion.

"Weasley," he asked idly, "Why are you yelling?"

"Why are _you_ yelling?" Ron said yet louder. Malfoy flinched at the ungainly noise and turned away, rubbed his eyes. He was too exhausted to handle this. Snickering and jeering erupted consequently. Malfoy had quite lost his taste for picking fights with Potter. He never had the energy these days and besides, it was all so juvenile.

He just hated him so much.

And another thing that nearly drove him over the edge (although he highly suspected that the edge was already far behind him), was Cho Chang. Not that he was in love with her or anything—that was very far from the truth—but the fact that someone like Potter had nabbed her…well, that was just insane.

Cho Chang. Pretty. Bitter. And incidentally, quite hostile. Malfoy had thought it would have been somewhat of a challenge, so he had put on his best hey-look-at-me-I'm-a-sensitive-asshole routine and flaunted it cunningly. In his entire career at Hogwarts as a bit of a Don Juan, (he liked to think it so) the act had worked for every girl he tried it on. His reputation was sterling.

And he had just begun to think he was invincible when he got this snarky little head-case to give him some kissage, but was instantly shot down when she left hastily on the account of Prefect duties. She could have very well ignored the responsibility (after all, how could the authorities know?) but right before they could do anything more, and Malfoy could further solidify his mental wall of trophies, Cho Chang decided to leave him half-dressed and dumbfounded. Prefect duties. Oh, how he hated them.

It wasn't Cho that had him in this stitch, he had convinced himself. It was merely the fact that she would not accept him, that he for once did not get his way. Most girls would fall head-over-heels for him, and they would be the ones left degraded when _he_ rejected them. They would be all cute and seductive when he flattered them with the honor of his attention, and he would lead one after another to the RoR or whatever.

Cho Chang was not the case apparently. It seemed that every time they met, she wanted to be anywhere else but in his company. She was incredibly embittered, and actually a bit goofy, but Malfoy found her very pretty, so he placed her as that month's shag.

But you know how it panned out, and now Malfoy found himself doubting himself tremendously. Now he was jealous, insecure, and in grand need of a shag.

* * *

_"_Hey, mate. D'you want to head out to the courtyard?"

Blaise caught Malfoy as he strolled out of Greenhouse Four, the last class of the day finished.

"Whatever for?" Malfoy asked, trying to sound snide, but only achieving a very forlorn whine.

"It's bloody beautiful out, that's why,"

Malfoy looked at Blaise skeptically.

"Sounds tempting, Zabini," he scratched his ear, "But I promised to meet Crabbe and Goyle,"

"Since when did you start hanging out with those idiots again?"

"I didn't,"

"Well, then do me a favor, will you? I think you need some down-time anyway. You're dead-beat, I can tell,"

"Well alright, mother,"

Blaise smiled. In the two years that they had roomed together, he had concluded two things about Draco Malfoy: One, he was on every level a prick, and two, he was a bloody genius. Blaise Zabini was a hard-working over-achiever, and when he found out he was to room with Draco Malfoy, the most flamboyant asshole in the whole of Hogwarts, he thought it would be the end of him. Or at least he would have to request a different roommate. However, he ended up taking a liking to the bastard. After all, they were both from families of strictly pure-bloods and as it turns out, both shared the aspiration of becoming the next captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Both of them attracted flocks of girls, and none of this Death Eater bollocks really interested either of them. But other than that, they didn't share much else in common.

So they were really very different, but over the years had developed quite a friendship. Malfoy had shed his notorious group of cronies, and had begun to spend more time with Blaise and his friends. I guess you could say he was maturing.

Not all at one time though, because he was still a disreputable ass.

But they say opposites attract, for Blaise and Malfoy were right mates.

"This a good place?" Malfoy threw his books in the grass and took a seat under the shade of a large willow.

"Capital," Blaise drew out his quill and pulled out a fresh roll of parchment.

"Zabini, you're such a goody-goody,"

"What? There was never harm in doing homework, now?"

"A lame excuse for a Slytherin, mate,"

Blaise ignored him and began his Herbology write-up. Meanwhile, Malfoy stretched himself out in the grass and surveyed his surroundings. The grass was warm from the midday sun, and there were few people out at this hour. He almost felt at peace. Five minutes passed, and he began to feel twitchy.

"Zabini," he asked nonchalantly. The last thing he wanted to come off as was needy.

"Yeah,"

"You want to stop writing and throw a Snitch or two for me?"

Blaise didn't stop moving his quill.

"Oh, right. That match against Gryffindor is Saturday, innit?"

"Yeah, and the last thing I want to see is Potter shaking his fat arse in my face because he's caught the goddamn Snitch before me,"

Blaise looked up.

"If I'm not mistaken, I do sense a droplet of jealousy,"

Malfoy raised his eyebrow. He did that whenever a response surprised him.

"Potter got your whitie-tighties in a twist again, eh?" Blaise jested and flashed a playful smile.

"Hardly," he said, running a long-fingered hand through his unkempt hair, "He's such a wanker."

"I think we've already established that," Blaise said tiredly, crossing a 't'. "Hey, isn't he shagging that Ravenclaw babe…what's her name…Cho Chang?" He added this as an afterthought.

Peering up, he could have sworn he caught Malfoy casting him a dirty look, but blinked once and he was still maintaining his unruffled composure.

Malfoy scoffed.

""Potter. Shagging? I'd rather not stray on the subject," He took to absorbing himself in what seemed to be a particularly interesting insect.

Blaise remembered overhearing something about Potter and Chang during breakfast in the Great Hall. He didn't care, but boredom is not a wonderful thing.

"Yeah. Well, they're going out or whatever, anyway." He lifted his head and blinked at the sun, "I would say that Potter's found his match at last,"

"Oh?"

Blaise was startled to get a reply. He didn't think Malfoy had been listening.

"Well yeah, I think anyone would have to agree that they're quite well together. I mean, both are practically saints." From what he had heard and observed, Cho Chang was a pretty straight-laced goody two-shoes. She was Head Girl. She had the history; she had gone out with Cedric Diggory, after all. And besides, she _was_ Asian.

Now Malfoy seemed to have drifted off, his attention on something completely different. He had been doing that often lately—the dark under his eyes a clear giveaway. Blaise shrugged, went back to his parchment.

Malfoy ran his hand through his hair again.

"Funny", he said, sounding less bored, and surprising Blaise a second time with his voice, "I never got that impression".


	16. Ch 14: Young Lust is Never Good

_Well, dammit. Read it!_

* * *

_Ch. 14: Young Lust Is Never Good._

He was getting annoying.

No, really.

It was outrageous.

Cho had the tendency to exaggerate, but she was sure at this point in time that Harry Potter—her new little occupation—was getting on her nerves.

It was always, 'Cho, let me help you with those books,' 'Cho, I don't know what I'd do without you,' 'Cho, I'm so happy we're together,'…from the day they started as a couple (for the second time) to nearly a week and a half later, Harry was clingy, horny, and infuriating. All at one time. She didn't think it was possible.

Agitated? Yes. Miserable? Not yet. Cho's relationship with Harry now gave her confidence. She was not alone when she hung out with her friends (and their men). She was the bloody talk of the school. It was all very enticing.

She had to blame herself for it though. She was the one who had been feeling isolated. She was the one who had screamed at Roger Davies. She was the one who stormed around the castle in a complete wreck. And incidentally, she was the one who had roughly grabbed an unaware Harry and initiated that wonderful mouth-to-mouth action called kissing. So really, what else was the boy to think? He was certainly infatuated already, so Cho decided to give it a go, and soon enough she found herself swimming along confusedly.

She stayed with him because he made her feel good about herself. For Christ's sake, if she told him to jump off the Astronomy Tower, he would happily oblige. And wasn't that what everyone expected anyway? Cho had given up on trying to change her image. She had come to the sad conclusion that people, no matter how much she sulked and snapped and pined, were by nature too stupid to take into account the steady evolution of an angsty soul.

As for Draco Malfoy, she had almost completely discounted him from her thoughts. She had been disturbed by the alarming number of hours she'd spent thinking about him, however since she had started seeing Harry she had managed successfully to push him into the back of her mind. After all, it _is_ difficult to forget about someone who you had nearly shagged.

Cho was happy that she was confident, unhappy that the source of that confidence was also the source of her aggravation. She was happy that Malfoy was finally in the back of her mind.

But…he was still in the back of her mind.

And he'd left a peculiar taste there.

* * *

They were sitting in the Common Room, enjoying, er…rather Harry was enjoying…cuddling in front of the fire. It had been a particularly frigid afternoon, and the playful sparks that sporadically shot out and threatened to set fire to the furniture was welcomed.

Five minutes earlier Cho had been accompanied by Madeline and Roger Davies, two very good sources of conversation. While being berated by a constant stream of Quidditch small-talk from her captain, she pretended to be engaged heavily in the topic of Quaffle size regulation as to avoid being left alone in the clutches of Harry.

Don't get me wrong, Harry Potter was by no means repulsive. In fact, he had to be one of the best looking chaps in the school. But you know how things go, and Cho found him to be increasingly more unbearable as the days passed.

So when Madeline and Roger left the room to attend to some 'studying', Cho found herself in an uncomfortable arrangement. The Common Room was deserted, a friendly fire cast shadows on everything leaving the air warm and smelling nice. The cold rain battered on the dark, stain-glassed windows. It was the ideal romantic setting, but Cho found it anything but. Harry had slowly wrapped his arm around her, and pulled her gently toward his body. His face lay softly buried in her hair, but it only made Cho's flesh tingle in agitation.

_If only he wouldn't talk…_

She heard that short intake of breath that people make before they start a conversation.

_No…please, don't open your mouth._

"Cho," Harry breathed quietly, slightly muffled. _Damn._

"Mm-hmm?" Cho replied, wearing a stolid expression.

"I love this…"

"What?" The tone held exasperation. He didn't catch it.

"Being with you. Just sitting here. With you,"

She didn't say anything.

_Oh god oh god no no no. Break up with him. No, you can't. Yes, you can't stand him. But you're finally happy. No…I'm not!_

The internal battle raging in Cho's neural network made her temples hurt. She knew the right thing was to stop this as soon as she could; spare Harry, and more importantly, herself. However, she couldn't bring herself to it. She still feared that familiar sense of rejection and loneliness that she had to experience for such a long time beforehand. It didn't occur to her how selfish she was being.

Harry made a motion to hold her hand and without thinking, Cho hastily pulled it away and shifted, perturbed. At this moment, she knew she had gone too far. Harry's hesitation lingered horribly, and his confusion certainly laid quite the guilt-trip. She felt him lift his head, and his eyes bore through her skull. Five minutes passed, and by the time Harry broke the silence, Cho thought her lungs would never work again.

"Cho…" He took his arm from around her, his brow furrowed. "Is there something wrong?"

Cho looked down and opened her mouth to defend herself, only to be interrupted.

"Am I…bothering you?"

She peered at his face which was wrought with hurt and concern.

"No…Harry, look…"

Now would come the stream of gut-wrenching self-pity and low self-esteem. Now she would be made to feel incredibly guilty while Harry let out deepest insecurities and quiet sobs. Cho braced herself.

Instead, he hesitated and sat back, not taking his eyes off of her while she tried everything to avoid his gaze.

It seemed like forever, that sickening space between particularly awkward words. Harry held a surprisingly calm posture. By now, Cho would have expected him to be crumpled in a ball. He appeared as if she had just remarked upon the weather.

"Cho, I know you're bothered,"

"Harry, you don't bother me," Lying through her teeth? Yes.

He glanced at the fire, pushed his glasses up his nose.

"No. I hate to break it to you, but you kinda gave it away just now."

Cho couldn't say anything. And now, she was coming off as the fool. Harry waited, perhaps for her to say something, but when she didn't, he continued.

"I'm quite aware that I'm overprotective. And I've known that you find it occasionally unsettling…but I'm only that way because I can't help it. Cho, the truth is…I like you too much."

When he put it that way—when he was equipped with his mature tone and his startlingly logical reasoning—it made Cho melt just a wee bit. Why hadn't he said this before?

"I reckon it was the same with Ginny Weasley," he said, settling back comfortably, a good foot and a half separating the two of them, "But I never told her the same thing I just told you. I figured she wouldn't have understood. She was never the most forgiving—or brightest—soul, come to think of it," Cho had never seen Harry smirk—he didn't seem the type. When he did just then, she found it was positively…questionable. Irresolute. If anything, Harry Potter's smirk was wind-blown. _(A/N: I know, I know, that's not what happened with Har and Gin. Geesh.)_

"I'll understand if you want to break up," he said, "Just acknowledge my reasoning."

Cho's neural network was up in flames now, which was weird. She had just come from being terribly annoyed with this boy…to being, well, less annoyed. Albeit, it was a slow process. She wasn't going to completely disregard his insufferable clinginess. But to express this newfound gratitude, she made her way across the couch, and for the first time, she was glad to be in his company.

Now, the romantic setting worked its magic.

* * *

The next days resulted in the following: a) Harry was noticeably happier. b) Harry was noticeably hornier. c) Cho was still not 'into' Harry. In that way. Not yet.

Sad, really, seeing the sincere effort Harry had put into his last little act in the Common Room…Cho couldn't help the fact that she just didn't see him in that way. It didn't mean that she was going to hate him or break up with him…he was a good friend, and he was nice, and presumably very interesting because his life was _always_ on the line, but she was just not head-over-heels for him. But I guess you don't always have to be head-over-heels in a relationship.

She stayed with him because he made her feel wanted. She ended up convincing herself that she did like him, pushing moral obligation into the back of her mind. For one thing Cho hated was to be ignored, and hell, Harry wasn't one to do that. He was the sort of boy who didn't know his own potential, who, if any sort of interest was directed at him, would cling on and not know when to let go. He was commonly desperate. And so was Cho, apparently. But for different reasons.

* * *

The spring air was brisk that morning, despite the fact that it was late-May. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall hung clear and cold, and the students below milled about sleepily. Cho had gotten up early that day, at 9:00, and sat quite alone at the Ravenclaw table as she spooned Cheerios into her mouth.

Across the hall lay the Slytherin table: a clumsy, raucous group of idiots, and much too loud. From where she sat, it appeared as if Goyle was trying to shove a whole helluva lot of sustenance down some poor underclassman's throat. Cho sighed at the unsightly scene, too tired to put into action her Prefect authority. The table writhed with brutes, a thing that Cho found positively abhorrent.

Her eyes lingered away for a while, skimmed over the front page of the Daily Prophet, to her coffee, and then back to the Slytherins. This time her eyes rested on Draco Malfoy, sitting in the midst of it all, looking very annoyed and a maybe a little embarrassed at the scene his House was displaying. He had a copy of Advanced Potions and a mess of parchment spread before him on the table, that he looked at apprehensively every time the table moved. Judging from the large cup of coffee poised in his right hand and his sad, tired posture, Malfoy hadn't been getting much sleep. Of course, Cho recalled, 6th year was a bitch.

But she didn't stray on that thought for long. Soon, Cho found herself actually, physically staring the boy down. He wore typical clothes—nothing too stylish, but acceptable. The grey sweater was obviously on account of the weather, layered over a t-shirt. His worn jeans hung naturally on him and bunched ever so slightly when they touched his sneakers. His school robes lay discarded behind him, his bag thrown carelessly on the table. His ever-so regular attire, however, contrasted strikingly with his face. He had very sharp features, features that leaked intellect and quickness. His chin tapered off at a clean point, his cheekbones narrow and defined. Even his eyes were sharp, though holding a sort of half-amusement. They laughed at you, almost, if you can call it that. Cho didn't know how long she had been staring at him. It wasn't like anyone was there to judge her on it. But it was one of those rare (well, depending on your attention-span) occasions when you are completely out of it, and concentrating profusely and solely on one thing. Kind of like a beacon. Of light. In the hub of darkness. Haha.

So it scared her a tad when Malfoy ran his long fingers through his mussed blonde hair and looked up distractedly. She must have been sending stalker signals or something, because he hesitated slightly and looked almost instantly in her direction. And when he saw her staring straight back at him, he averted his eyes casually back to his Potions text. Cho found it a bit weird, so she finished her breakfast and got up to leave.

In the quietness on the stone hallway, she leaned lightly against the wall. Yes, she had seen a bit more of the boy in the recent past, but she had never taken the time look at him. No, really, _look_ at him. It worried her, this sensation. For Cho found Malfoy to be unbearably delectable.


	17. Ch 15: The Effect of Nectar

Ch. 15 _The Effect of Nectar on Hard-to-Please Asian Women_

So she was attracted to Draco Malfoy. So what? For Pete's sake, it wasn't like this was the first time she'd spotted a good-looking boy. Besides, Harry Potter had proven to have grown into himself wonderfully—tall, handsome, brilliant eyes and even a newly-proven maturity. And they were together!

Lust was irrelevant now—laughable, even—because she had already snagged the full package.

* * *

Cho sat on a sun-warmed marble bench reading her Potions text when she heard the soft pattering of feet behind her. Today between Arithmancy and Potions she had an unusual hour of free time, and was enjoying some time alone in a people-free courtyard. She had not expected anyone to interrupt but with the noise at her back, she instinctually flinched and took her eyes away from the page she was reading.

Harry was trotting toward her with a spring in his step, green eyes sparkling.

"Hey, you," Cho chirped, head cocked lightheartedly. She was content in the lulling sunshine, and seeing that someone wanted her company sparked her to be all the more cheerful. "And what brings you here at this hour? You should be in class."

Harry flashed his classically white, straight smile.

"I have a surprise," he said, clasping his hands behind his back and standing playfully far away from her, "and I couldn't wait to tell you so I'm taking an ever-so-lengthy bathroom break from Charms."

"Oooh, what is it?" Cho asked.

Harry stared at her mischievously and after a few seconds, said, "I've gotten reservations for us at Nectar's Grove!"

Cho's eyes widened and she let out a gasp of disbelief. Nectar's Grove was the most upscale restaurant in Hogsmeade, a location that students rarely saw the inside of because it was for only the richest and/or the most prestigious of wizards. To confirm a reservation was one in a thousand…but then again we are speaking of Harry Potter.

She stood up, letting her Potions book drop behind the bench and moved toward Harry. She smiled.

"Harry," she said, as she wrapped her arms around his waist, "Thank you."

* * *

Malfoy sat in Charms, quill in mouth, lids heavy. He hadn't been getting much sleep with finals approaching. Today, a double session with the Gryffindors and his head hurt from the abominable ruckus. All he could do to save himself was sleep through it…

But just as he was comfortably drifting off something hit him on the back of his neck. Resignedly, he let out a sigh and turned around. Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan sat two desks behind him, snickering and making obscene kissy faces. Rolling his eyes, he sat back, eyes straying absent-mindedly over his Charms text. Didn't they ever get tired of it?

Blaise, seeing that Malfoy was awake shot him an 'oh bugger them' look and passed him a note. Malfoy didn't see why he insisted on being secretive—the class was a joke, after all. But he picked it up and unfolded it nonetheless.

_Christ, bloody Gryffindors,_ it began in Blaise's meticulous handwriting,_ They really ought to be put down, the whole lot of them. But it'll never happen._ Malfoy smirked at his friend's very precise statement. _But anyway mate, you want to go down to The Hogs Head with Flint and some others tonight?_

Malfoy thought he could use some alcohol after a long week of studying far into the night. _Fuck yeah,_ was his succinct reply.

* * *

Both Madeline and Amita seemed to find the whole proposition very charming.

"Chooo, Nectar's _Grove_!" Madeline whined, dipping her quill into the inkwell. She was adding some finishing touches to her final paper for Muggle Studies, "If it were any other guy, your best luck would be a night at The Hogs Head…maybe some making out,"

"And you're going tonight, right?" Amita asked.

"Yeah," said Cho, "Nine-thirty reservation,"

"What are you going to wear?"

Cho paused. She hadn't thought about it.

"I don't know,"

Amita stopped flipping through her History of Magic textbook and regarded Cho with a confused half-smile, "You don't know?" she inquired, "Cho, that's so unlike you. It's bloody Nectar's Grove!"

"Yeah…" Cho smiled, "I guess I never got around to it. Haven't been on the ball so much lately,"

"No, shit," Madeline observed quietly.

"So what do you think you'll wear, then, now that the subject _has_ been brought up?"

"Err," Cho's wardrobe quickly ran through her head, "Really, I don't know,"

"Cho!"

"What?"

"Let me remind you that you're eating dinner at Nectar's Grove. Shall we go up to plan an outfit?" Amita seemed anxious to get away from her studying, a rare occurrence.

"No," Cho said nonchalantly, "I really ought to finish this write-up."

"Come ooonn," Madeline pried, gently tugging at Cho's sleeve, "This is so unlike you. You always know what to wear for every occasion,"

Cho honestly did not see what the buggle (!) was. She did not think that what she wore that night should be such a pressing matter. She did not always know what to wear and she wondered how much her friends really knew her.

"It's only seven, guys. Honestly, give a girl some room." The latter sentence seemed to mirror quite a lot in her life. We shan't dwell.

However, in about an hour and a half, Cho shoved her papers back into her book bag and retreated to her dormitory.

In the silence of the empty room she sat down heavily on her unmade bed, kicked her closet door open lazily. She knew the occasion called for a much higher level of giddiness, but she didn't have it in her. She had been under a constant state of exhaustion recently.

After some ruffling about, Cho decided upon a neat green dress that ended just above the knees and a sleek, plunging neckline (with her unblessed endowment, this was hardly a sluttish statement). She was surprised to find a black cardigan under her bed that she had not seen in several months, and the warm, breezy night called for layers the cover for her bare arms was welcome. Clasping a delicate gold necklace around her neck, she washed her face, did her makeup, and brushed her hair. Finally, she stepped into some black, pointy-toed heels, and voila, she was finished. It was ten to nine.

Sighing, she wished she had spent longer writing her essay on the 1578 Scottish Goblin Revolts rather than having so much extra time to kill. She hated doing nothing.

So she decided to make her way downstairs slowly and wander the grounds for a bit, pass it off for some extra Prefect duties. Her heels made hard clacking sounds against the cold marble hallways, and her dress swayed slightly with the movement of her hips. The night was growing still, but colder, and she puller her cardigan closer around herself. As she rounded the corner to the stairwell of the fourth floor she saw the trim frame of her Quidditch captain approaching up the steps.

"Well, if it isn't Roger Davies," Cho said, arching an eyebrow when he had seen her.

"And Cho Chang—looking good as always," he winked playfully. "What's the occasion?"

Cho remembered her dress and heels, "Oh," she shrugged, "Harry and I have plans tonight,"

"Oh? And where?"

"Nectar's Grove,"

Roger raised his eyebrows, "Potter's heading for home base, I see,"

Cho crossed her arms, "Cute, Davies. So witty," She glared at him.

Cracking a handsome smile, Roger grabbed her and mussed up her hair a bit. Not too much, though—he knew better.

"Only my favorite Seeker deserves the best treatment," he said after letting her go from his grasp. He punched her lightly on the arm and smiled warmly, "Don't let him go, Chang. Even if you're fraternizing with the enemy, so-to-speak, Potter's a good guy. Besides, you two are perfect together,"

Cho's disposition became a little icy with this assertion, "Perfect? And how?" she inquired with an annoyed tone.

"You know, Chang." Roger said as if she really did know, not having caught her tenor, "Just don't let him snag the Snitch before you, and I won't hurt the sucker too much," He turned to leave, "Well, I'm off…don't forget practice tomorrow evening,"

"Yeah," Cho said with a heavy heart, "See you,"

"Have fun!" He winked suggestively for good measure.

She sneered.

Cho was in the Great Hall by 9:20 and Harry was already there, sitting at the bottom of the main stair, looking off into space. Cho snuck up behind him, tapped his back with her foot. He lurched forward slightly, and (she could tell he was smiling even if his back was toward her) lifted his hands above his head to find hers. She grabbed his hands and helped him to stand up. When he had turned around, his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

"You look great, Cho," he said, pecking her lightly on the lips.

"Well, gee thanks," she said. A perfect couple, were they? Tonight she would test that.

* * *

The pair Apparated into Hogsmeade about a block away from their destination. The summer night licked their faces as Cho looked around at bent shops that appeared slightly cramped and uncomfortable alongside the smoothly-worn street. The familiarity of the quaint Wizarding village struck a small chord, and she felt for a moment that there was no place else she'd rather be than there—in the safety of the known. She shook the idea away quickly, denying that she could ever be so inextricably tied up with such straight-laced notions.

"Shall we then, madam?" Harry said in an air of mock-politeness, offering his arm and giving Cho a brief flash of his pearlies.

Cho couldn't refuse the fact that the gesture was cute, but still she felt an instinctual plunge in the pit of her stomach. Nonetheless she smiled and accepted Harry's arm.

The dark cobbles were illuminated in patches below the lit shops and pubs, making Harry and Cho's shadows flit in and out of outline as they strolled by. They passed the Hog's Head, no doubt packed on a Friday night, the light peeking dully through the dust-laden windows. Bangs and shouts of laughter sounded distantly from inside the shabby bar, and Cho suddenly had a strong inclination to join the raucous festivities.

They arrived at the end of the street in front of a building of tan brick, elegant columns on either side of the glass door. Tiny balls of lights hung suspended in mid-air over the well-trimmed shrubbery, and marble fountains filled out the small, but handsome lawn. As she advanced up the red stone path to the entrance, she saw that the liquid flowing from the white fountains was not water, but a thick golden syrup; Cho could only assume that the restaurant was true to its name.

Inside, it was as equally beautiful—thick velvet drapery of a deep indigo covered the wood-paneled walls, and high-stretching arches of gold gave the room a rich, enclosed aura. Cho stood transfixed for a moment, taking in a scene completely different from all that was Hogsmeade (which was charming but admittedly a bit scruffy). Beside her, she saw that Harry was in a similar state of awe, green eyes ogling the elaborate arch that they were standing beneath.

"Blimey," Harry breathed, "Quite the Hog's Head, don't you think?"

"How did you get us reservations here again? I think I see Rufus Scrimgeour over there." Cho pointed to a corner where the Minister of Magic sat (he dies!)

"Scrimgeour," Harry scoffed, dismissing the name. Grinning, he pointed at himself, "Harry fucking Potter,"

Cho tried to suppress her laugh, but ended up snorting distastefully just as a smartly dressed waiter bustled up to them.

"Oh," the waiter sniffed quietly before turning to Harry, "Harry Potter! What an honor. We have your table ready. This way please!" He led them to a table under a small round window and handed them their menus.

"Something to drink, Mr. Potter?"

"Err, just some pumpkin juice,"

Cho ordered the same, and the waiter left them to decide on dinner.

"So, do you like it?" Harry asked after they had settled on a meal of marinated chicken (magic marinated chicken, no doubt, since I can't think of anything more imaginative).

"What?" Cho looked away from the tiny candles hovering under the domed ceiling, "Oh, this place?" She smiled, picked up her pumpkin juice and pointed at it knowingly, "Top-notch stuff, Harry."

Harry seemed to relax at this, and perhaps it was too obvious because Cho arched a brow. "You were worried I wouldn't like it?" She asked.

Harry shifted, embarrassed, "Yeah, well there was always that slight chance…"

Cho set her glass down on the white tablecloth.

"Harry Potter." She said sternly, "You know that practically every girl wants to be taken here…even if it will never happen. Don't beat yourself up, for Pete's sake."

"You're not every girl, though."

Cho picked up her glass again, almost compulsively, and held it under her lips a moment before challenging this contention.

"Hardly,"

Now, Harry's eyebrows arched.

"You're smart," he said.

"Hah,"

"Funny,"

"Sure,"

"Obnoxious,"

"Oh?"

"Hard-to-please,"

"Prove it."

"You just spent a good two minutes denying a simple compliment, Cho."

He was right.

"You're right. So what? It still doesn't make me one-of-a-kind,"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but their dinner came and they were both swept into a temporary state of silence. The chicken was very good.

But a mere three minutes into eating, and Harry decided to pursue what he'd been after earlier.

"Cho,"

"Mmhm?" Her mouth was full of food, but managed to choke out, "This chicken is superb," to show that she was consciously listening.

"Yeah," Harry said looking down at his own plate, which held a meal very different than Cho's, "I think it's charmed to satisfy your personal taste." There was a pause, and when Cho didn't say anything, Harry continued.

"When I first met you, you seemed really sweet and shy. You played Quidditch. You had me head-over-heels…someone I thought I could definitely, you know, get along with." He pushed his food around on his plate while he said this, but when the gravy and the chicken looked to be of the same consistency he stopped and looked at her. "By the time I'd realized I'd fabricated my own fantasy—built you up as a completely different person, I had run you off.

"And since we've recently hooked up again, I met you with my vision unclouded and found I'd fallen in love. It sounds dumb, and maybe it's another one of my cock-and-bull imaginings, but even if it is I don't give a shit. That's how happy I am to find that the truth is way better than the invention."

Cho stared at him, skeptical.

"I still don't understand why I'm so special."

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and his mouth twisted in his thinking.

"Well…who defines what's ordinary and extraordinary, anyway? I discovered how smart, funny, obnoxious and hard-to-please you are," he said, reciting bits of their conversation from earlier, "Maybe a person can be extraordinary just by being difficult."

Again, a ball from left field. She'd expected the usual card: "Cho, I've never met anyone like you before". Or something a little more disgustingly prosaic, as "When I look into your eyes I see stars (how can you say that isn't special?)" It would have made her vomit.

She was glad she wasn't vomiting, but she wasn't so happy with the conclusion she had deduced.

Harry was sensitive. He was witty. He was mature. He understood Cho like no one else did. They were perfect together.

And now she really did want to retch.

* * *

A few blocks away, the process of retching was actually, tangibly, and chunkily underway.

"Blaise! Sit up. Blaise. Please. No, aim at the bowl, Blaise." Malfoy stood nervously next to his moaning friend in the cramped and soggy bathroom of The Hog's Head.

"I'm beginning to think that last round of "Warlocks" wasn't such a wise choice," Blaise mumbled with surprising coherence as he drew his head away from the filthy toilet rim to look bleary-eyed at the tragically sober Malfoy _(A/N: "Warlocks" is the wizard's equivalent to "Kings". I bet theirs is a lot cooler)._

"Yeah," Malfoy replied, "Neither were the five others."

"HMmmmm, yeah," Blaise stared dreamily at his blonde friend for a moment before saying with a strain in his voice, "Shit, man I've got to learn how to hold my liquor," and he heaved one last time into the bowl, "But I feel fantastic now."

Malfoy noticed a stray bit of carroty upchuck threatening precariously to drip onto the floor next to his shoe so he seized Blaise by the arm and began shakily to help him up.

"Okay, good let's get you back," he glanced at his watch, "Blimey, mate it's only 10:00!"

"Don't make fun," Blaise wagged a floppy finger as if he were scolding, "Lightweights are people too."

They Apparated back into the Prefects' dormitory and after Malfoy had wrestled Blaise's trousers off and rolled him under his blankets, he decided to go back. He had been without a drink tonight since he knew Blaise would most likely end up purging three-quarters of his digestive tract, so as he popped back onto the dark streets of Hogsmeade, he was looking forward to the warm, affectionate embrace of Firewhiskey.

But as this is _my_ story, an unexpected treat is always just around the corner.

Malfoy turned in the direction of the pub, but saw instead the dim outline of a girl.

"Cho," he exclaimed rather stupidly, "What're you doing out at this hour?"

"Oh, just prowling the alleyways," Cho Chang replied, a hint of sarcasm barely discernible behind her exhaustion. Malfoy couldn't help but notice the neckline of her dress.

"Hm." He was struggling to feign detachedness. "Figures."

He expected her to dismiss him immediately and continue walking back to the castle (he assumed that was where she was headed), but instead she remained still for a few awkward minutes, her arms crossed, a conflicted look etched into her features. They stood a good seven feet apart from each other.

He couldn't remember the last time they had spoken—surely their very brief history was quite enough to make this void in dialogue painfully discomfited. But just as he opened his mouth to break the silence, Cho beat him to it.

"D'you…want to…get a drink or something?"

The strain in her voice was enough to betray her mercilessly. Malfoy smirked brightly at her as he recognized the marvelous and beautiful living proof of a genuine Harry Potter fuck-up.


	18. Ch 16: Banter

**_First update since '08. LET ME KNOW WHAT Y'ALL THINK._**

* * *

_Chapter 16: Banter_

A blotchy-faced Goyle knocked the wind out of Cho as she and Draco Malfoy stepped into the heady weekend vibe of the Hog's Head.

"Shittt, Drakes," he slurred, a meaty death grip on his butterbeer, "Didn't see you there."

"Genius," muttered Cho, sober. The taste of gourmet lemon pepper chicken still clung in her mouth. Also lingering on her palate was the snapshot of Harry Potter's sweet face before she excused herself to the bathroom during dinner at the most highly-rated restaurant this side of Magical Britain, and Apparated to the seedier section of Hogsmeade.

"Huh?" Goyle responded blankly, taking a swig. Draco Malfoy shot Cho a sideways glance and placed a hand on his friend's tree-like shoulder with an understanding smirk.

"Hey man—we can't always be looking where we're going, can we?" He motioned toward the nearest table and caught the eye of the bartender before continuing, "So. I just spent a good part of the past hour watching our dear mate purge the world into that godforsaken bar toilet, and an additional eternity wrestling him into his jammies. Even left a glass of water on his bed stand. Thought the joint could use someone with a stronger stomach, so let's have a round with this lady, eh?"

Goyle's eyes squinted as he laughed. "Blaise, man! That wanker never could hold his booze. And to think a group of Huffle_puffs _were just looking for him." A pitcher of dark buttery stuff materialized and poured them three tall mugs.

Cho, only following every other word within the rowdy pub din, seized the opportunity.

"Hey. Cheers, fuckers," she said drolly.

"Curse words, Chang?" Draco teased, feigning distress. He tapped his glass to hers and took a sip, "What's next? You gonna break bad? Am I gonna get got?"

"Nice to see you've been catching up on your Muggle media, Malfoy. And all this time I thought your people were for the whole tyranny-euthanasia package on that front."

Malfoy laughed.

"Cheers to _that,_" he chuckled, before adding the obligatory, "Motherfucker."

Cho drank deeply, savoring the buttery zest and minty hoppiness of her drink. The Hog's Head lived up to its name in terms of cleanliness, but the beer was tasty. Despite the evening's previous confusion and the present sexual tension she could have easily cut with a knife, the atmosphere of sloppy teens and beer-soaked barstools did a good job at easing more internal neuroses.

A freckled boy sitting a table down was debating fervently with his friend. The contention involved whether or not "pissing asshole-down on the shitter" had more overall perks than the traditional upright position. Cho suddenly became very aware of her formal dress and heels. She felt like sticking around and bantering— knock back a few, and temporarily forget how poorly she had handled Harry. She deserved that much. But first.

"Fellas," she said, standing up and brushing imaginary lint off her dress, "This is no way for a lady to dress on a Friday night." She looked at Malfoy. "Be back in a few. You gonna stick around?"

"Sticking is in the agenda, darling," Malfoy chirped with a wink, "Where were you before this anyway? The pope's Bat Mitzvah?"

"That question has so many things wrong with it."

"Pops wouldn't let me enroll in Muggle Studies. Not that I would ever do that willingly." Malfoy ran a lean hand through his hair and summoned a cigarette from thin air.

"Damn, you purebloods is ig'nant," Cho replied, shaking her head, both dodging Draco's inquiry and making him crack a smile.

* * *

Back in Ravenclaw Tower, Cho thought about sending an owl to Amita or Madeline but saved herself a trip to the barn when she found both her friends lounging in the Common Room with a cheap bottle of red wine. She snuck up behind the high-backed chair where Madeline was seated.

"Chickies enjoying the cab sauv?"

Wide-eyed, Amita looked up from her glass.

"Grape juice never tasted better," she remarked.

Madeline turned around, asked the natural question: "How was dinner?"

Usually, Cho would have unloaded all her demons onto her friends—told them how Harry had bared his soul to her while they sat across the room from Rufus Scrimgeour. She would have told them how fancy the tiny food looked, how classy the décor was, how she had Apparated out of there in the middle of the main course, how she had spent the last half hour drinking beer and shooting the shit with Draco Malfoy.

Maybe not the latter. They didn't need to know that. Yet.

"Fabulous," she said with a flourish of her wrist, and before either of them could open their mouths again, "So, I'm gonna go up and change into something more comfortable, then head over to the Hog's Head. Ya'll want to join?" Something about the jug of wine told her the answer.

"Harry's there?" asked Amita, casting a suspicious eye.

"Nah," said Cho as she made her way toward the corridor to her room, "He's out for the count tonight."

* * *

Cho located a frilly little black thing in her underwear drawer. Finally, she had conceded it was one of those evenings where feelings took complete precedence over rational thought. As a Ravenclaw, the concept was difficult to contend with, but obviously not foreign.

Ms. Chang was looking for validation tonight. Nothing Amita, Madeline, or her own vicious internal monologue judged her for would deny that. It had been a month since the ball. Hazy snapshots of the event floated through her memory: a grass-stained ball gown crumpled on the carpet, sweaty creases in the bedsheets, coarse dark curls which, like a rabbit hiding in a hole, peaked out from under the edges of Malfoy's blue boxer-briefs.

She pulled on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, grabbed a weather-worn jacket she thought would help bolster her toughness, and hopped into a pair of boots.

While checking out her butt in the full-length mirror, Amita's cat Yann watched her lethargically from a pile of laundry. He blinked his old, yellow eyes, flicked the tip of his tail. Cho stared back at the animal, imagined him remarking in a deeply sarcastic purr,

"Damn girl, gettin' it tonight?"

* * *

**_ Someone's getting laid. O NO._**


End file.
